But in spite of his annoyance, he had to endure her living in his household, and at the same time had taken great pains to prevent her nationality being known outside.

It was a severe trial for Don Marcelo to be obliged to keep silent when at table with his family.  He had to avoid the hysterics of his sister-in-law who promptly burst into sighs and sobs at the slightest allusion to her hero; and he feared equally the complaints of his wife, always ready to defend her sister, as though she were the victim. . . .  That a man in his own home should have to curb his tongue and speak tactfully! . . .

The only satisfaction permitted him was to announce the military moves.  The French had entered Belgium.  “It appears that the Boches have had a good set-back.”  The slightest clash of cavalry, a simple encounter with the advance troops, he would glorify as a decisive victory.  “In Lorraine, too, we are making great headway!” . . .  But suddenly the fountain of his bubbling optimism seemed to become choked up.  To judge from the periodicals, nothing extraordinary was occurring.  They continued publishing war-stories so as to keep enthusiasm at fever-heat, but nothing definite.  The Government, too, was issuing communications of vague and rhetorical verbosity.  Desnoyers became alarmed, his instinct warning him of danger.  “There is something wrong,” he thought.  “There’s a spring broken somewhere!”

This lack of encouraging news coincided exactly with the sudden rise in Dona Elena’s spirits.  With whom had that woman been talking?  Whom did she meet when she was on the street? . . .  Without dropping her pose as a martyr, with the same woebegone look and drooping mouth, she was talking, and talking treacherously.  The torment of Don Marcelo in being obliged to listen to the enemy harbored within his gates! . . .  The French had been vanquished in Lorraine and in Belgium at the same time.  A body of the army had deserted the colors; many prisoners, many cannon were captured.  “Lies!  German exaggerations!” howled Desnoyers.  And Chichi with the derisive ha-ha’s of an insolent girl, drowned out the triumphant communications of the aunt from Berlin.  “I don’t know, of course,” said the unwelcome lodger with mock humility.  “Perhaps it is not authentic.  I have heard it said.”  Her host was furious.  Where had she heard it said?  Who was giving her such news? . . .

And in order to ventilate his wrath, he broke forth into tirades against the enemy’s espionage, against the carelessness of the police force in permitting so many Germans to remain hidden in Paris.  Then he suddenly became quiet, thinking of his own behavior in this line.  He, too, was involuntarily contributing toward the maintenance and support of the foe.

The fall of the ministry and the constitution of a government of national defense made it apparent that something very important must have taken place.  The alarms and tears of Dona Luisa increased his nervousness.  The good lady was no longer returning from the churches, cheered and strengthened.  Her confidential talks with her sister were filling her with a terror that she tried in vain to communicate to her husband.  “All is lost. . . .  Elena is the only one that knows the truth.”