“What was that?”
The face of the Uhlan remained smooth and empty of all expression, as clean of all emotion as a bit of smooth white paper. In the flickering light from the lanterns which moved among the trees, the countenance appeared vague and lineless, almost imbecile in its negation. Then slowly his lips moved.
“It is the curé, Madame.... They have shot the curé.” The voice was as smooth as the face. It carried the hard, mocking cruelty of indifference. “They caught him signaling with his lantern from the steeple of the church.”
Without a sound Lily lay back once more and buried her face in her cloak. Her body shook silently.
“I could do nothing else,” continued the smooth voice. It came out from the thin lipped mouth as a serpent from a crevice in a rock. “It was not I who killed. I had nothing to say in the matter. I did what I could not help doing. Enfin, it was the monster!”
Across the fields of wheat from the direction of Meaux the faint crackling sound came nearer and nearer. It was as if the grain had caught fire and the flames were rushing toward them. Lily still lay with her eyes covered as if to shut out the picture which had risen in her imagination. M. Dupont ... the friend of dying Madame Gigon, the priest to whom she had told her life ... M. Dupont dead among the dungheaps of the farmyard!
Somewhere in the direction of the Trilport bridge, the solitary cannon fired again and as though it had summoned Madame Gigon back to life, they heard her speaking suddenly inside the lodge. She was talking rapidly in a low voice.
“You need not worry, Henri. To-morrow there will be fresh vegetables in from the barrier. At dark, a balloon with two passengers will be released at the Gare St. Lazare. Gabriel himself told me.” And then for a time she muttered incoherently and when her speech became clear again, she was saying, “There is a notice on the Rue de Rivoli that they are selling animals in the Jardin de Plantes. For food you understand ... I hear at ten sous the pound.” Again more mumbling and then, “Ah, that one was close. Yesterday a shell exploded in the Boulevard Montparnasse. We must place our faith in God.... Yes, we must pray, Henri. There is not enough God in the world.”
Then she became silent for a time and the Uhlan said, “Madame is delirious. She is living through 1870.... You see we have not progressed at all. It is merely turn about, first the French, and then we take a turn.” He laughed a nervous laugh devoid of mirth. “Ah, it is a pretty business, Madame ... a pretty business. The sooner we are all killed off the better. The animals could manage this world better than we have done.”
He had not finished speaking when a sudden rattle of rifles sounded somewhere near at hand, a little to the east by the copse in the long meadow. At the same time the confusion in the stables and the little park redoubled. A horse whinneyed. Men shouted. Water pails were overturned. Out of the darkness a man in rough gray uniform appeared and addressed the Captain in excited, guttural German. The Uhlans had begun to leave the stable. They were making their way through the black trees over the neatly ordered flowers to the gate in the garden wall.