"Here are the brutes going home. What whim will they take into their heads to-night?"
We heard them approach to the strains of accordeons and mouth-organs. From upstairs we saw them dressed up like women, with plumed hats on, stopping at every door, trying, it would seem, who could bawl the loudest. Or they tricked themselves out as house-painters, carried buckets and brooms and set high ladders against the walls, and climbed up as if to storm the house. Another time they would pretend to be strolling musicians, and, armed with saucepans and cauldrons, would give a mock serenade that would have put the dead to flight. Or, what was far worse, the noise of their steps would be scarcely audible; they would talk in whispers and stifle their laughter.
And, lying in the dark, we said to ourselves, still half asleep:
"They seem quiet to-night; perhaps we shall be able to go to sleep again."
But all of a sudden: bing, bang, formidable blows with revolvers shook the wooden shutters, and resounded in the room like peals of thunder. The unexpected noise startled us out of our torpor, and we could hardly recover our breath.
The next day, Mme. Lantois, half-sour, half-sweet, asked her lieutenant:
"Well, you had some fun last night?"
"Oh, yes! We knocked hard at the windows of all houses where there are young girls."
Maybe the officer read disapproval in the features of his interlocutor, for he went on:
"We are merry.... You may be sure that the French officers amuse themselves in the same way...."