The building was likewise occupied by a multitude of men under this same superintendent.  The open windows showed a continual shifting through the rooms.  Desnoyers heard great blows that re-echoed within his breast.  Ay, his historic mansion! . . .  The General was going to establish himself in it, after having examined on the banks of the Marne, the works of the pontoon builders, who had been constructing several military bridges for the troops.  Don Marcelo’s outraged sense of ownership forced him to speak.  He feared that they would break the doors of the locked rooms—­he would like to go for the keys in order to give them up to those in charge.  The commissary would not listen to him but continued ignoring his existence.  The lieutenant replied with cutting amiability: 

“It is not necessary; do not trouble yourself!”

After this considerate remark, he started to rejoin his regiment but deemed it prudent before losing sight of Desnoyers to give him a little advice.  He must remain quietly at the castle; outside, he might be taken for a spy, and he already knew how promptly the soldiers of the Emperor settled all such little matters.

He could not remain in the garden looking at his dwelling from any distance, because the Germans who were going and coming were diverting themselves by playing practical jokes upon him.  They would march toward him in a straight line, as though they did not see him, and he would have to hurry out of their way to avoid being thrown down by their mechanical and rigid advance.

Finally he sought refuge in the lodge of the Keeper, whose good wife stared with astonishment at seeing him drop into a kitchen chair breathless and downcast, suddenly aged by losing the remarkable energy that had been the wonder of his advanced years.

“Ah, Master. . . .  Poor Master!”

Of all the events attending the invasion, the most unbelievable for this poor woman was seeing her employer take refuge in her cottage.

“What is ever going to become of us!” she groaned.

Her husband was in constant demand by the invaders.  His Excellency’s assistants, installed in the basement apartments of the castle were incessantly calling him to tell them the whereabouts of things which they could not find.  From every trip, he would return humiliated, his eyes filled with tears.  On his forehead was the black and blue mark of a blow, and his jacket was badly torn.  These were souvenirs of a futile attempt at opposition, during his master’s absence, to the German plundering of stables and castle rooms.