rds fluttering
and twittering among the leaves. He shared their joy in the cool
refreshing dawn of the summer day. It certainly was a fine morning--but
whose dwelling was this? . . . He gazed dumbfounded at his bed and
surroundings. Suddenly the reality assaulted his brain that had been so
sweetly dulled by the first splendors of the day. Step by step, the host
of emotions compressed into the preceding day, came climbing up the long
stairway of his memory to the last black and red landing of the night
before. And he had slept tranquilly surrounded by enemies, under the
surveillance of an arbitrary power which might destroy him in one of its
caprices!

When he went into the kitchen, the Warden gave him some news. The
Germans were departing. The regiment encamped in the park had left at
daybreak, and after them others, and still others. In the village there
was still one regiment occupying the few houses yet standing and the
ruins of the charred ones. The General had gone also with his numerous
staff. There was nobody in the castle now but the head of a Reserve
brigade whom his aide called "The Count," and a few officials.

Upon receiving this information, the proprietor ventured to leave the
lodge. He saw his gardens destroyed, but still beautiful. The trees were
still stately in spite of the damage done to their trunks. The birds
were flying about excitedly, rejoicing to find themselves again in
possession of the spaces so recently flooded by the human inundation.

Suddenly Desnoyers regretted having sallied forth. Five huge trucks were
lined up near the moat before the castle bridge. Gangs of soldiers were
coming out carrying on their shoulders enormous pieces of furniture,
like peons conducting a moving. A bulky object wrapped in damask
curtains--an excellent substitute for sacking--was being pushed by four
men toward one of the drays. The owner suspected immediately what it
must be. His bath! The famous tub of gold! . . . Then with an abrupt
revulsion of feeling, he felt no grief at his loss. He now detested the
ostentatious thing, attributing to it a fatal influence. On account of
it he was here. But, ay! . . . the other furnishings piled up in the
drays! . . . In that moment he suffered the extreme agony of misery and
impotence. It was impossible for him to defend his property, to dispute
with the head thief who was sacking his castle, tranquilly ignoring the
very existence of the owner. "Robbers! thieves!" and h