"What do you mean?" asked Von Wedel, going close up to Fischer and looking him up and down with provocative and menacing air.
"I mean that you leave her alone," puffed the captain. "Those are my orders, Lieutenant—and if they are not obeyed you shall answer for it."
"You old woman! you old head of a sheep," shouted Von Wedel; "answer for it, shall I? You are drunk; and I'm drunk; and I don't care a snap about your orders." And dragging Chérie's arm from Fischer's grasp he pushed him back and glowered at him.
"Your orders ..." stuttered the intoxicated Feldmann, placing his hand on Fischer's shoulder to steady himself, "your orders ... direct contradiction with other orders ... higher orders ..." He wagged his head at Fischer. "The German seal must be set upon the enemy's country.... Go away. Don't be a screeching owl."
"And don't be a head of a sheep," added Von Wedel. "Vae victis! If it isn't you, it'll be somebody else. It'll be old Glotz—look at him ... sitting there, all agog, arrectis auribus! Or it will be our drunken men downstairs. Just listen to them!..."
The drunken men downstairs were roaring "Die Wacht am Rhein." Von Wedel's argument seemed to carry conviction.
"Vae victis!" sighed Fischer, swallowing another glass of brandy and looking across the room at the trembling Louise. "If it isn't I ... then Glotz ... or somebody else ... drunken soldiers...."
He went unsteadily towards Louise, who stood clutching at the locked door. "Woe to the vanquished, my poor woman ... seal of Germany ... higher orders.... Why should I be a head of a sheep?..."