gave some orders to a soldier who soon returned
with a bit of chalk which had been used to number the lodging places.
Von Hartrott wished to protect his uncle and began tracing on the wall
near the door:--"Bitte, nicht plundern. Es sind freundliche Leute."

In response to the old man's repeated questions, he then translated the
inscription. "It means, 'Please do not sack this house. Its occupants
are kind people . . . friendly people.'"

Ah, no! . . . Desnoyers repelled this protection vehemently. He did not
wish to be kind. He was silent because he could not be anything else.
. . . But a friend of the invaders of his country! . . . No, NO, NO!

His nephew rubbed out part of the lettering, leaving the first words,
"Bitte, nicht plundern." Then he repeated the scrawled request at the
entrance of the park. He thought this notice advisable because His
Excellency might go away and other officials might be installed in the
castle. Von Hartrott had seen much and his smile seemed to imply that
nothing could surprise him, no matter how outrageous it might be. But
his relative continued scorning his protection, and laughing bitterly at
the impromptu signboard. What more could they carry off? . . . Had they
not already stolen the best?

"Good-bye, uncle! Soon we shall meet in Paris."

And the captain climbed into his automobile, extending a soft, cold hand
that seemed to repel the old man with its flabbiness.

Upon returning to his castle, he saw a table and some chairs in the
shadow of a group of trees. His Excellency was taking his coffee in the
open air, and obliged him to take a seat beside him. Only three officers
were keeping him company. . . . There was here a grand consumption of
liquors from his wine cellars. They were talking together in German, and
for an hour Don Marcelo remained there, anxious to go but never finding
the opportune moment to leave his seat and disappear.

He employed his time in imagining the great stir among the troops hidden
by the trees. Another division of the army was passing by with the
incessant, deafening roar of the sea. An inexplicable phenomenon kept
the luminous calm of the afternoon in a continuous state of vibration.
A constant thundering sounded afar off as though an invisible storm were
always approaching from beyond the blue horizon line.

The Count, noticing his evident interest in the noise, interrupted his
German chat to explain.

"It is the cannon. A battle is going on. S