t
rebellion?

"Whatever the cause may be," concluded the Socialist, "this war is very
sad. How many dead! . . . I was at Charleroi. One has to see modern
warfare close by. . . . We shall conquer; we are going to enter Paris,
so they say, but many of our men must fall before obtaining the final
victory."

And as though wishing to put these visions of death out of his mind, he
resumed his diversion of watching the swans, offering them bits of bread
so as to make them swing around in their slow and majestic course.

The Keeper and his family were continually crossing and recrossing the
bridge. Seeing their master on such friendly terms with the invaders,
they had lost some of the fear which had kept them shut up in their
cottage. To the woman it seemed but natural that Don Marcelo's authority
should be recognized by these people; the master is always the master.
And as though she had received a part of this authority, she was
entering the castle fearlessly, followed by her daughter, in order to
put in order her master's sleeping room. They had decided to pass the
night in rooms near his, that he might not feel so lonely among the
Germans.

The two women were carrying bedding and mattresses from the lodge to
the top floor. The Keeper was occupied in heating a second bath for His
Excellency while his wife was bemoaning with gestures of despair the
sacking of the castle. How many exquisite things had disappeared! . . .
Desirous of saving the remainder, she besought her master to make
complaints, as though he could prevent the individual and stealthy
robberies. The orderlies and followers of the Count were pocketing
everything they could lay their hands on, saying smilingly that
they were souvenirs. Later on the woman approached Desnoyers with a
mysterious air to impart a new revelation. She had seen a head officer
force open the chiffoniers where her mistress was accustomed to keep her
lingerie, and he was making up a package of the finest pieces, including
a great quantity of blonde lace.

"That's the one, Master," she said soon after, pointing to a German
who was writing in the garden, where an oblique ray of sunlight was
filtering through the branches upon his table.

Don Marcelo recognized him with surprise. Commandant Blumhardt, too!
. . . But immediately he excused the act. He supposed it was only
natural that this official should want to take something away from the
castle, since the Count had set the example.