"The boots will be cleaned."
"Never by me!"
"By you."
"Well, not now, let them wait!"
The whole day passed, and the boots were not cleaned. The Maréchale knew what François suffered inwardly, and got him alone in the evening.
"Jesus died for the Germans," she said.
His lips remained tightly pressed. He suffered, and she suffered with him. After a moment's silence he burst into a torrent.
"We have endured too much! Think of the siege of Paris. That beast of a Bismarck! Oh! our country has suffered. Clean a German's boots? Never!"
He raved. The Maréchale was quiet and listened for a time. Then she said:
"All that may be true; but you are going to have a greater victory over the Germans than ever the Germans won over you. The triumph which they had over France was a flea-bite in comparison."