Better that this good man should
carry off his stuff than those other domineering officers with cutting
voices and insolent stiffness.
Desnoyers noticed, too, that the writer raised his head every time that
Georgette, the Warden's daughter, passed by, following her with his
eyes. The poor father! . . . Undoubtedly he was comparing her with his
two girls home in Germany, with all their thoughts on the war. He, too,
was thinking of Chichi, fearing sometimes, that he might never see her
again. In one of her trips from the castle to her home, Blumhardt called
the child to him. She stopped before the table, timid and shrinking as
though she felt a presentiment of danger, but making an effort to smile.
The Prussian father meanwhile chatted with her, and patted her cheeks
with his great paws--a sight which touched Desnoyers deeply. The
memories of a pacific and virtuous life were rising above the horrors of
war. Decidedly this one enemy was a good man, anyway.
Because of his conclusion, the millionaire smiled indulgently when the
Commandant, leaving the table, came toward him--after delivering
his letter and a bulky package to a soldier to take to the battalion
post-office in the village.
"It is for my family," he explained. "I do not let a day pass without
sending them a letter. Theirs are so precious to me! . . . I am also
sending them a few remembrances.
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