Bands of
soldiers were exploring the castle and the nearest woods. From the
ruined rooms, from the depths of the cellars, from the clumps of
shrubbery in the park, from the stables and burned garage, came surging
forth men dressed in greenish gray and pointed helmets. They all threw
up their arms, extending their open hands:--"Kamarades . . . kamarades,
non kaput." With the restlessness of remorse, they were in dread of
immediate execution. They had suddenly lost all their haughtiness on
finding that they no longer had any official powers and were free from
discipline. Some of those who knew a little French, spoke of their wives
and children, in order to soften the enemies that were threatening them
with their bayonets. A brawny Teuton came up to Desnoyers and clapped
him on the back. It was Redbeard. He pressed his heart and then pointed
to the owner of the castle. "Franzosen . . . great friend of the
Franzosen" . . . and he grinned ingratiatingly at his protector.
Don Marcelo remained at the castle until the following morning, and was
astounded to see Georgette and her mother emerge unexpectedly from the
depths of the ruined lodge. They were weeping at the sight of the French
uniforms.
"It could not go on," sobbed the widow. "God does not die."
After a bad night among the ruins, the owner decided to leave
Villeblanche.
Pages:
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477