XVII
We began to descend the hill, and I confess to you, George, that when I approached the house and thought of how I should have to announce the terrible news to my daughter and the grandmother, my legs trembled under me.
At last we reached the threshold. Jean entered first; I followed him and closed the door. It was about four o'clock. Marie-Rose was peeling potatoes for supper, and the grandmother, seated in her arm-chair by the stove, was listening to the crackling of the fire, as she had done for years past.
Imagine our position. How could we manage to tell them that the Germans were going to turn us out of doors? But the poor women had only to look at us to understand that something very serious had happened.
After having put my stick in the corner by the clock, and hung my cap on the nail, I walked up and down the room several times; then, as I had to commence somehow, I began to relate in detail the propositions that the Oberförster had made to us to enter the service of the King of Prussia. I did not hurry myself; I told everything clearly, without adding or suppressing anything, wishing that the poor creatures might also have the liberty of choosing between poverty and shame.
I was sure that they would choose poverty. Marie-Rose, deadly pale, lifted her hands to Heaven, murmuring:
"My God! is it possible? Do such rascals exist in the world? Ah! I would rather die than join such a company of wretches!"
It pleased me to see that my daughter had a brave heart, and Jean Merlin was so touched that I saw his lip quiver.
The grandmother seemed to wake up like a snail in its shell; her chin trembled, her dull eyes sparkled with anger; I was surprised at it myself. And when I went on to say that the Oberförster, if we refused to serve Prussia, gave us twenty-four hours to leave our home, her indignation burst forth all at once.
"To quit the house?" said she, lifting her bent form, "but this house is mine! I was born in this house more than eighty years ago, and I have never left it. It was my grandfather, Laurent Duchêne, who first lived here, more than a hundred and thirty years ago, and who planted the fruit trees on the hill; it was my father, Jacquemin, who first marked out the road to Dôsenheim and the paths of Tömenthal; it was my husband, George Burat, and my son-in-law Frederick here, who sowed the first seeds of the beech trees and firs, whose forests now extend over the two valleys; and all of us, from father to son, we have lived quietly in this house; we have earned it; we have surrounded the garden with hedges and palisades; every tree in the orchard belongs to us; we saved up money to buy the meadows, to build the barn and the stables. Drive us away from this house? Ah! the wretches! Those are German ideas! Well, let them come! I, Anne Burat, will have something to say to them!"