on of all the enemy.
"May every barbarian be exterminated! . . . every one of the bandits in
pointed helmets who have just burned Louvain and other towns, shooting
defenceless peasants, old men, women and children!"

"You forget that I am a mother," sobbed Frau von Hartrott. "You forget
that among those whose extermination you are imploring, are my sons."

Her violent weeping made Desnoyers realize more than ever the abyss
yawning between him and this woman lodged in his own house. His
resentment, however, overleapt family considerations. . . . She might
weep for her sons all she wanted to; that was her right. But these sons
were aggressors and wantonly doing evil. It was the other mothers who
were inspiring his pity--those who were living tranquilly in their
smiling little Belgian towns when their sons were suddenly shot down,
their daughters violated and their houses burned to the ground.

As though this description of the horrors of war were a fresh insult to
her, Dona Elena wept harder than ever. What falsehoods! The Kaiser was
an excellent man. His soldiers were gentlemen, the German army was a
model of civilization and goodness. Her husband had belonged to
this army, her sons were marching in its ranks. And she knew her
sons--well-bred and incapable of wrong-doing. These Belgian calumnies
she could no longer listen to . . . and, with dramatic abandon, she
flung herself into the arms of her sister.

Senor Desnoyers raged against the fate that condemned him to live under
the same roof with this woman. What an unfortunate complication for the
family! . . . and the frontiers were closed, making it impossible to get
rid of her!

"Very well, then," he thundered. "Let us talk no more about it. We shall
never reach an understanding, for we belong to two different worlds.
It's a great pity that you can't go back to your own people."

After that, he refrained from mentioning the war in his sister-in-law's
presence. Chichi was the only one keeping up her aggressive and noisy
enthusiasm. Upon reading in the papers the news of the shootings,
sackings, burning of cities, and the dolorous flight of those who
had seen their all reduced to ashes, she again felt the necessity of
assuming the role of lady-assassin. Ay, if she could only once get her
hands on one of those bandits! . . . What did the men amount to anyway
if they couldn't exterminate the whole lot? . . .

Then she would look at Rene in his exquisitely fresh unif