Brand thanked him for looking after his wife, and Elsa gave him her hand and said, “Danke schön.”
Major Quin raised his finger and said, “Hush. Don’t forget you’re in Paris now.”
Then he saluted with a click of spurs, and took his leave. I put Brand and his wife in a taxi and drove outside, by the driver, to a quiet old hotel in the Rue St. Honoré, where we had booked rooms.
When we registered, the manager at the desk stared at Elsa curiously. She spoke English, but with an unmistakable accent. The man’s courtesy to Brand, which had been perfect, fell from him abruptly and he spoke with icy insolence when he summoned one of the boys to take up the baggage. In the dining-room that night all eyes turned to Elsa and Brand, with inquisitive, hostile looks. I suppose her frock, simple and ordinary as it seemed to me, proclaimed its German fashion. Or perhaps her face and hair were not so English as I had imagined. It was a little while before the girl herself was aware of those unpleasant glances about her. She was very happy sitting next to Brand, whose hand she caressed once or twice and into whose face she looked with adoration. She was still very pale, and I could see that she was immensely tired after her journey, but her eyes shone wonderfully. Sometimes she looked about her and encountered the stares of people—elderly French bourgeois and some English nurses and a few French officers—dining at other tables in the great room with gilt mirrors and painted ceiling. She spoke to Brand presently in a low voice.
“I am afraid. These people stare at me so much. They guess what I am.”
“It’s only your fancy,” said Brand. “Besides, they would be fools not to stare at a face like yours.”
She smiled and coloured up at that sweet flattery.
“I know when people like one’s looks. It is not for that reason they stare.”
“Ignore them,” said Brand. “Tell me about Franz, and Frau von Detmold.”
It was unwise of him to sprinkle his conversation with German names. The waiter at our tables was listening attentively. Presently I saw him whispering behind the screen to one of his comrades and looking our way sullenly. He kept us waiting an unconscionable time for coffee, and when at last Brand gave his arm to Elsa and led her from the room, he gave a harsh laugh as they passed, and I heard the words, “Sale Boche!” spoken in a low tone of voice yet loud enough for all the room to hear. From all the little tables there came titters of laughter and those words “Sale Boche!” were repeated by several voices. I hoped that Elsa and Brand had not heard, but I saw Elsa sway a little on her husband’s arm as though struck by an invisible blow, and Brand turned with a look of passion, as though he would hit the waiter or challenge the whole room to warfare. But Elsa whispered to him, and he went with her up the staircase to their rooms.