"You hear?" asked the chief.
"I hear," answered Marteau. "Listen. My father kept this house for its owners. He is dead in the village yonder."
"The wine, the wine," roared one, licking his lips.
"Food. I starve," cried another, baring his teeth.
"Wait. Naturally, fleeing from the army, I came to him. My sister is dead too, outraged, murdered. You know?"
"Yes, yes, we know."
"I want to get my revenge on someone and who better than she?"
The young officer did not dare again to look at the young woman. He could feel the horror, the amazement, the contempt in her glance. Was this one of the loyal Marteaux?
"Make her suffer for us!"
"Our children!"