Louise, who had finished bandaging the officer's wounded arm, burst into tears again; this time they were tears of joy.
"What are these women?" inquired Feldmann, glancing around with his mouth full. "They look like ballet-dancers."
"That one," said Von Wedel, with a coarse laugh, pointing at Louise, "is the weeping Niobe; and that" indicating Mireille—"is the demon child. And this"—taking Chérie's wrist and drawing her towards him—"is my sister-in-law and an angel."
"And this is Veuve Clicquot '85," said Glotz entering with some bottles in his hand and stepping as if casually between Chérie and her tormentor.
The men turned all their attention to the wines, and sent Glotz to the cellar three or four times to fetch some more.
They wanted Martel; they wanted Kirsch; they wanted Pernod. Then they wanted more champagne. Then they wanted more sandwiches, which Louise went to make. Then they wanted coffee, which Feldmann insisted upon making himself on a spirit-lamp. They set fire to the tablecloth and to the tissue-paper serviettes, which they threw down and stamped out on the carpet.
Von Wedel sat down at the piano and sang "Traum durch die Dämmerung," and Feldmann wailed a chorus. Then Feldmann recited a poem. He was very tipsy and had to put one arm around Glotz's neck and lean heavily on Glotz's shoulder in order to be able to stand up and gesticulate.
"Liebe Mutter, der Mann mit dem Kocks ist da!"
"Schweig still, mein Junge, das weiss ich ja.
"Hab'ich kein Geld, hast du kein Geld,
"Wer hat denn den Mann mit dem Kocks bestellt?"
Great laughter and applause from Captain Fischer and Von Wedel greeted this; only Glotz remained impassive; with Feldmann's arm around his neck, his chubby countenance unmoved, his expression vacant.
For some time they paid no heed to the three women clustered together in the furthest corner of the room, except to stretch out a detaining hand whenever they tried to move towards the door.