"He says that generals Bluecher and Schwartzenberg are near Paris."
"Near Paris! They! The rascals!" he faltered out.
Suddenly, with a bad look on his face, he gave a low laugh and said:
"Ah! thou meanest to take Phalsburg, dost thou? Thou meanest to return
to thy land of sauerkraut with palms of victory? He! he! he! I have
given thee thy palms of victory!"
He made the motions of pricking with his bayonet as he spoke,
"One--_two_--hop!"
It made us all tremble only to look at him.
"Yes, Father Moses, so it is," said he, emptying his glass by little
sips. "I have nailed this sort of an apothecary to the door of the
tile-kiln. He made up a funny face--his eyes starting from his head.
His Aurelia will have to expect him a good while! But never mind!
Only, Madame Sorle, I assure you that it is a lie. You must not
believe a word he says. The Emperor will give it to them! Don't be
troubled."
I did not wish to go on. I felt myself grow cold, and I finished the
letter quickly, passing over three-quarters of it which contained no
information, only compliments for friends and acquaintances.
The sergeant himself had had enough of it, and went out soon afterward,
saying, "Good-night! Throw that in the fire!"
Then I put the letter aside, and we all sat looking at each other for
some minutes. I opened the door. The sergeant was in his room at the
end of the passage, and I said, in a low voice:
"What a horrible thing! Not only to kill the father of a family like a
fly, but to laugh about it afterward!"
"Yes," replied Sorle. "And the worst of it is that he is not a bad
man. He loves the Emperor too well, that is all!"
The information contained in the letter caused us much serious
reflection, and that night, notwithstanding our stroke of good fortune
in our sales, I woke more than once, and thought of this terrible war,
and wondered what would become of the country if Napoleon were no
longer its master. But these questions were above my comprehension,
and I did not know how to answer them.