on of
bandits. . . . Your comrades are nothing less than highwaymen."

Captain von Hartrott swelled up with a jerk. Separating himself from the
complainant and looking fixedly at him, he spoke in a low voice, hissing
with wrath. "Look here, uncle! It is a lucky thing for you that you have
expressed yourself in Spanish, and those around you could not understand
you. If you persist in such comments you will probably receive a bullet
by way of an answer. The Emperor's officials permit no insults." And
his threatening attitude demonstrated the facility with which he could
forget his relationship if he should receive orders to proceed against
Don Marcelo.

Thus silenced, the vanquished proprietor hung his head. What was he
going to do? . . . The Captain now renewed his affability as though he
had forgotten what he had just said. He wished to present him to his
companions-at-arms. His Excellency, Count Meinbourg, the Major General,
upon learning that he was a relative of the von Hartrotts, had done him
the honor of inviting him to his table.

Invited into his own demesne, he finally reached the dining room, filled
with men in mustard color and high boots. Instinctively, he made
an inventory of the room. All in good order, nothing broken--walls,
draperies and furniture still intact; but an appraising glance within
the sideboard again caused a clutch at his heart. Two entire table
services of silver, and another of old porcelain had disappeared without
leaving the most insignificant of their pieces. He was obliged to
respond gravely to the presentations which his nephew was making, and
take the hand which the Count was extending with aristocratic languor.
The adversary began considering him with benevolence, on learning that
he was a millionaire from a distant land where riches were acquired very
rapidly.

Soon he was seated as a stranger at his own table, eating from the same
dishes that his family were accustomed to use, served by men with shaved
heads, wearing coarse, striped aprons over their uniforms. That which he
was eating was his, the wine was from his vaults; all that adorned
the room he had bought: the trees whose boughs were waving outside the
window also belonged to him. . . . And yet he felt as though he were in
this place for the first time, with all the discomfort and diffidence of
a total stranger. He ate because he was hungry, but the food and wines
seemed to have come from another planet.

He continued