I could not calm the poor old grandmother; all that she said was just; but with people who believe that strength is everything, and that shame and injustice are nothing, what is the use of talking so much?
When she sat down again, all out of breath, I asked her, in a very sad but firm voice:
"Grandmother, do you wish me to accept service with the Germans?"
"No!" said she.
"Then within forty-eight hours we must all leave together this old house."
"Never!" she cried. "I will not!"
"And I tell you it must be," said I, with an aching heart. "I will have it so."
"Ah!" she cried, with painful surprise.
And I continued, with anguish:
"You know, grandmother, that I have always had the greatest respect for you. May those Germans be a thousand times accursed for having forced me to be disrespectful to you; I hate them still more for it, if possible! But do you not understand, grandmother, that those brutes are without shame, without honour, without pity even for old age, and if they encountered the slightest resistance they would drag you out by your gray hair? You are weak and they are strong, and that is enough for them! Do you not understand that if I saw such a spectacle I would throw myself upon them, even if they were a regiment, and that they would kill me? Then what would become of you and my daughter? That is what we must think of, grandmother. Forgive me for having spoken so harshly to you, but I do not wish for a minute's grace, nor, I am sure, do you; beside, they would not let us have it, for they are pitiless people!"