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.  Besides, he took into account the quality of the objects which he was appropriating.  They were not for himself; they were for the wife, for the daughters. . . .  A good father of his family!  For more than an hour now, he had been sitting before that table writing incessantly, conversing, pen in hand, with his Augusta and all the family in Cassel.  Better that this good man should carry off his stuff than those other domineering officers with cutting voices and insolent stiffness.