Many were taking obscene delight in soiling the
rugs and filling the sideboard drawers with indescribable filth, using
the finest linens that they could lay their hands on.
Her master silenced her peremptorily. Why tell him such vile, disgusting
things? . . .
"And we are obliged to wait on them!" wailed the woman. "They are beside
themselves; they appear like different beings. The soldiers are saying
that they are going to resume their march at daybreak. There is a
great battle on, and they are going to win it; but it is necessary that
everyone of them should fight in it. . . . My poor, sick husband just
can't stand it any longer. So many humiliations . . . and my little girl
. . . . My little girl!"
The child was her greatest anxiety. She had her well hidden away, but
she was watching uneasily the goings and comings of some of these
men maddened with alcohol. The most terrible of them all was that fat
officer who had patted Georgette so paternally.
Apprehension for her daughter's safety made her hurry restlessly away,
saying over and over:
"God has forgotten the world. . . . Ay, what is ever going to become of
us!"
Don Marcelo was now tinglingly awake. Through the open window was
blowing the clear night air. The cannonading was still going on,
prolonging the conflict way into the night. Below the castle the
soldiers were intoning a slow and melodious chant that sounded like a
psalm.
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