When the lunch was at last ended, the officers arose and adjusted their swords for service.  Captain von Hartrott rose, too; it was necessary for him to return to his general; he had already dedicated too much time to family expansion.  His uncle accompanied him to the automobile where Moltkecito once more justified the ruin and plunder of the castle.

“It is war. . . .  We have to be very ruthless that it may not last long.  True kindness consists in being cruel, because then the terror-stricken enemy gives in sooner, and so the world suffers less.”

Don Marcelo shrugged his shoulders before this sophistry.  In the doorway, the captain 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.