The two officers watched her, fascinated. Would she shriek? What terrible paroxysm would be the expression of a heart-broken despair? Or had he——? They held their breath.
Her eyelids flickered for a moment, and then, with one deep sigh, her eyes opened. She smiled round on them.
“Meine Herren?” she said in her voice of timid enquiry. Then, fixing her eyes on the doctor, “You sent for me?”
The doctor looked at her gravely.
“The Commandant desired me to assure you, gnädige Frau, that you need be under no apprehensions during our stay here. We consider ourselves the guests of a charming lady and we hope to leave only a pleasant memory behind us.”
His companions marvelled at the strength of will which could enforce so complete a normality of voice and feature.
The German woman smiled up at him, a pathetic little smile.
“You are very kind, Herr Doctor—please convey my thanks to the Commandant.” She made a little movement which drew attention to her black dress. “My—my husband in heaven, if he can see you, will—will bless you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please excuse me!” she said with a pretty little gesture of apology, “his memory is all I have—I cannot help bringing him into every act of my life.”
“Love need not cease with death, gnädige Frau,” replied the doctor. “One hopes that those we loved still watch over us—though we cannot see them.”
She smiled again.