Madame Chéri was paralysed for a moment by a shock of horror; quite speechless and motionless. Then suddenly she moved forward and spoke in a fierce whisper.
“What are you doing, beast?”
Schwarz gave a queer snort of alarm.
He stood swaying a little, with the helmet on the back of his head. The candlelight gleamed on its golden eagle. His face was hotly flushed, and there was a ferocious look in his eyes. Madame Chéri saw that he was drunk.
He spoke to her in horrible French, so Pierre Nesle told me, imitating it savagely, as Madame Chéri had done to him. The man was filthily drunk and declared that he loved Hélène and would kill her if she did not let him love her. Why did she lock her door like that? He had been kind to her. He had smiled at her. A German officer was a human being, not a monster. Why did they treat him as a monster, draw themselves away when he passed, become silent when he wished to speak with them, stare at him with hate in their eyes? The French people were all devils, proud as devils.
Another figure stood on the landing. It was Edouard—a tall, slim figure with a white face and burning eyes, in which there was a look of fury.
“What is happening, maman?” he said coldly. “What does this animal want?”
Madame Chéri trembled with a new fear. If the boy were to kill that man, he would be shot. She had a vision of him standing against a wall....
“It is nothing,” she said. “This gentleman is ill. Go back to bed, Edouard. I command you.”
The German laughed, stupidly.