Eight servants were at dinner around a large table.  But suddenly one of the maids sat there, her mouth agape, her eyes fixed and letting fall her glass.  They all followed the direction of her gaze.

They saw the enemy!

Good God!  The Prussians were attacking the chateau!

There was a shriek, only one shriek made up of eight shrieks uttered in eight different keys, a terrific screaming of terror, then a tumultuous rising from their seats, a jostling, a scrimmage and a wild rush to the door at the farther end.  Chairs fell over, the men knocked the women down and walked over them.  In two seconds the room was empty, deserted, and the table, covered with eatables, stood in front of Walter Schnaffs, lost in amazement and still standing at the window.

After some moments of hesitation he climbed in at the window and approached the table.  His fierce hunger caused him to tremble as if he were in a fever, but fear still held him back, numbed him.  He listened.  The entire house seemed to shudder.  Doors closed, quick steps ran along the floor above.  The uneasy Prussian listened eagerly to these confused sounds.  Then he heard dull sounds, as though bodies were falling to the ground at the foot of the walls, human beings jumping from the first floor.

Then all motion, all disturbance ceased, and the great chateau became as silent as the grave.

Walter Schnaffs sat down before a clean plate and began to eat.  He took great mouthfuls, as if he feared he might be interrupted before he had swallowed enough.  He shovelled the food into his mouth, open like a trap, with both hands, and chunks of food went into his stomach, swelling out his throat as it passed down.  Now and then he stopped, almost ready to burst like a stopped-up pipe.  Then he would take the cider jug and wash down his esophagus as one washes out a clogged rain pipe.

He emptied all the plates, all the dishes and all the bottles.  Then, intoxicated with drink and food, besotted, red in the face, shaken by hiccoughs, his mind clouded and his speech thick, he unbuttoned his uniform in order to breathe or he could not have taken a step.  His eyes closed, his mind became torpid; he leaned his heavy forehead on his folded arms on the table and gradually lost all consciousness of things and events.

The last quarter of the moon above the trees in the park shed a faint light on the landscape.  It was the chill hour that precedes the dawn.

Numerous silent shadows glided among the trees and occasionally a blade of steel gleamed in the shadow as a ray of moonlight struck it.

The quiet chateau stood there in dark outline.  Only two windows were still lighted up on the ground floor.

Suddenly a voice thundered: 

“Forward! nom d’un nom!  To the breach, my lads!”

And in an instant the doors, shutters and window panes fell in beneath a wave of men who rushed in, breaking, destroying everything, and took the house by storm.  In a moment fifty soldiers, armed to the teeth, bounded into the kitchen, where Walter Schnaffs was peacefully sleeping, and placing to his breast fifty loaded rifles, they overturned him, rolled him on the floor, seized him and tied his head and feet together.