He employed his time in imagining the great stir among the troops hidden
by the trees. Another division of the army was passing by with the
incessant, deafening roar of the sea. An inexplicable phenomenon kept
the luminous calm of the afternoon in a continuous state of vibration.
A constant thundering sounded afar off as though an invisible storm were
always approaching from beyond the blue horizon line.
The Count, noticing his evident interest in the noise, interrupted his
German chat to explain.
"It is the cannon. A battle is going on. Soon we shall join in the
dance."
The possibility of having to give up his quarters here, the most
comfortable that he had found in all the campaign, put His Excellency in
a bad humor.
"War," he sighed, "a glorious life, but dirty and deadening! In an
entire month--to-day is the first that I have lived as a gentleman."
And as though attracted by the luxuries that he might shortly have to
abandon, he rose and went toward the castle. Two of the Germans betook
themselves toward the village, and Desnoyers remained with the other
officer who was delightfully sampling his liquors. He was the chief of
the battalion encamped in the village.
"This is a sad war, Monsieur!" he said in French.
Of all the inimical group, this man was the only one for whom Don
Marcelo felt a vague attraction.
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