“But France,” complained the manufacturer, “is most unresponsive towards us.  For many years past, our Emperor has been holding out his hand with noble loyalty, but she pretends not to see it. . . .  That, you must admit, is not as it should be.”

Just here Desnoyers believed that he ought to say something in order that the spokesman might not divine his more engrossing occupation.

“Perhaps you are not doing enough.  If, first of all, you would return that which you took away from France!” . . .

Stupefied silence followed this remark, as if the alarm signal had sounded through the boat.  Some of those who were about putting their cigars in their mouths, remained with hands immovable within two inches of their lips, their eyes almost popping out of their heads.  But the Captain of the Landsturm was there to formulate their mute protest.

“Return!” he said in a voice almost extinguished by the sudden swelling of his neck.  “We have nothing to return, for we have taken nothing.  That which we possess, we acquire by our heroism.”

The hidden knee with its agreeable friction made itself more insinuating, as though counselling the youth to greater prudence.

“Do not say such things,” breathed Bertha, “thus only the republicans, corrupted by Paris, talk.  A youth so distinguished who has been in Berlin, and has relatives in Germany!” . . .

But Desnoyers felt a hereditary impulse of aggressiveness before each of her husband’s statements, enunciated in haughty tones, and responded coldly:—­

“It is as if I should take your watch and then propose that we should be friends, forgetting the occurrence.  Although you might forget, the first thing for me to do would be to return the watch.”

Counsellor Erckmann wished to retort with so many things at once that he stuttered horribly, leaping from one idea to the other.  To compare the reconquest of Alsace to a robbery.  A German country!  The race . . . the language . . . the history! . . .

“But when did they announce their wish to be German?” asked the youth without losing his calmness.  “When have you consulted their opinion?”

The Counsellor hesitated, not knowing whether to argue with this insolent fellow or crush him with his scorn.

“Young man, you do not know what you are talking about,” he finally blustered with withering contempt.  “You are an Argentinian and do not understand the affairs of Europe.”

And the others agreed, suddenly repudiating the citizenship which they had attributed to him a little while before.  The Counsellor, with military rudeness, brusquely turned his back upon him, and taking up the pack, distributed the cards.  The game was renewed.  Desnoyers, seeing himself isolated by the scornful silence, felt greatly tempted to break up the playing by violence; but the hidden knee continued counselling self-control, and an invisible hand had sought his right, pressing it sweetly.  That was enough to make him recover his serenity.  The Counsellor’s Lady seemed to be absorbed in the progress of the game.  He also looked on, a malignant smile contracting slightly the lines of his mouth as he was mentally ejaculating by way of consolation, “Captain, Captain! . . .  You little know what is awaiting you!”