The old man was shrewd in his way. The sooner these strangers became members of the household the less likely were they to attract attention.
Thus it came about that both Dalroy and Irene were back in the kitchen, and clothed in garments fully in keeping with their new rôles, when a commissariat wagon entered the yard. A Bavarian corporal did not trouble to open the door in the ordinary way. He smashed the latch with his shoulder. “Why is this door closed?” he demanded fiercely.
“Monsieur——” began Joos.
“Speak German, you swine!”
“I forgot the order, Herr Kaporal. As you see, it was only on the latch.”
“Don’t let it happen again. Load the first wagon with hay and the second with flour. While you’re at it, these women can cook us a meal. Where do you keep your wine?”
“Everything will be put on the table, mons—Herr Kaporal.”
“None of your lip!—Here, you, the pretty one, show me the wine-cupboard. I’ll make my own selection. We Bavarians are famous judges of good wine and pretty women, let me tell you.”
The corporal’s wit was highly appreciated by the squad of four men who accompanied him. They had all been drinking. It is a notable fact that during the early days of the invasion of Belgium and France—in effect, while wine and brandy were procurable by theft—the army which boasts the strictest discipline of any in the world was unquestionably the most drunken that has ever waged successful war.
Irene was “the pretty one” chosen as guide by this hulking connoisseur, but she knew how to handle boors of his type.