'Shouts are heard afar off in the woods.
'"Ah, my poor child!" says my aunt, weeping, "what a hideous
thing is war!"
'She looks very feeble, very worn, my poor great-aunt Moreau.
The sight of her thin face, her skeleton-like hands, moves me
painfully. She sees this.
'"At my age," she murmurs, "these events, my dear, are hard to
bear."
'However, she assures me the Germans are not very cruel. The
Captain in command of those billeted on her, despite his rude
exterior, is not uncivil.
'At that moment, indeed, this officer returns with his men; his
heels ring on the bricks of the ante-chamber. He opens the door
of the little room where we are sitting.
'"Do not be disturbed, Madame," he says, addressing my aunt,
"on account of the firing you may have heard. There is nothing
of any consequence. A wood-cutter, in whose hut we found arms,
and whom we have shot: nothing more."
'He salutes and retires. My aunt shudders. She turns white, her
eyes close, her head falls back against the chair. She is
faint. I call her maid, who runs to my summons, with the cook
and the servant just come to fetch me. The three women try and
revive her. She remains so weak when again conscious, that they
carry her to her chamber. She is grieved to have fainted.
'"When my dear little Jean came to see me," she murmurs! "It
was the thought of that poor wood-cutter--"
'She trembles like a leaf as I leave her.
'Germaine, who has come from my grandfather's to fetch me, asks
me to wait a moment; she has a message for the Prussian Captain
from my grandfather. The officer is walking up and down,
smoking, under the lime-trees. I hear his guttural voice as he
answers, "Tell your master that I shall expect him here." What
can this mean? When I reach my grandfather's house I rush to
the dining-room to question the old man, but Germaine catches
hold of my arm.
'"You must not disturb Monsieur. He is engaged with someone."
'Through the door, which I hold half-opened, I have seen that
someone. He is a person dressed like a peasant, who looks not
like a peasant, nevertheless. His large hat is worn too
gracefully; his ragged blue blouse is too old to accord with
his proud and delicate features. Is he an officer of
franc-tireurs? A French spy, perhaps? Is my grandfather giving
or receiving information? Is he not, as I hope, planning to
surprise the Prussians? I question Germaine. She is astonished
at my anxiety.
'"That man? He wanted to see the Mayor, and as the Germans have
put the Mayor in prison, he was brought here. Do not trouble
yourself about him, Monsieur Jean."
'I hear a sound of closing doors. It is, of course, the
stranger going away.
'My grandfather joins me.
'"Well, how is your aunt?"
'I tell him what happened, the story of the wood-cutter and its
effect upon her.
'"Ah! what a pity!--humph, humph!--I will go and see her.
Germaine, my cloak."
'"Shall I come with you, grandpapa?"
'"No, no; not worth while. I shall be back in half an hour."
'In twenty minutes' time he returns.
'"You see I am as good as my word. I made haste, eh?"
'"Is my aunt better?"
'"Your aunt? Yes--no--that is, yes, much better."
'"Jean," he says to me after dinner, "you were to go back the
day after to-morrow, but as I must go on business to Versailles
in the morning early, I will take you with me. Does it
disappoint you, eh?"
'"A little, yes."
'"Bah! you shall make up for it another time. You shall come
again soon for several days, and send your lessons to the
deuce."
'I laugh. I think I must have been mistaken. The man whom I saw
must have been really a peasant. My grandsire could not be so
gay if there were to be fighting at Maussy this evening.
However, before going to bed I look out over the country, and
when I lie down I strain my ear to catch a sound. All night
long I cannot sleep; I can only listen. All at once a hand
touches my elbow. I start up, screaming. Germaine laughs.
'"What is the matter, Monsieur Jean? Were you dreaming?"
'I stare round me in amaze. It is broad day.
'"Make haste and get up; the chocolate is ready; master is
waiting."
'Half an hour later we leave the house. We are at the end of
the street which opens on to the Versailles road, when a
platoon of Prussian soldiers, with bayonets fixed, appears upon
that road. My grandfather seizes me brutally and throws me down
under a fence behind a hedge. I look through the branches. The
Prussians pass at quick march. Amidst them marches a man, with
his hands tied behind his back. I see a broad-leafed hat, a
pale proud face, an old blue blouse. It is the man of
yesterday. I know him at a glance.
'"Grandfather, who is that?"
'"Eh! Who? who? Some vagabond a Prussian patrol has picked up
out of some ditch. The Prussians are very severe for--for--for
wayfarers. It is better not to be seen in these affairs--it is
better not to be mixed up--I mean--"
'My grandfather is lying, I am certain; I feel it. Why should
he lie? Where are they taking this fettered man? Why force me
to lie hidden under a hedge? From behind the village a loud
volley thunders through the air.
'"Grandpapa, grandpapa, did you hear that?"
'The old man is livid.
'"It is the Prussians who practise--who practise at firing--in
the morning. It is their custom--their custom--every morning--"
'His teeth chatter.'