A heavy flush darkened his face:
"Little mistress of the bells, I shall pretend to be what the Huns are. Do you know how they treat French women?"
"I have heard," she said faintly.
"Then if they come and find you here as my—prisoner—they will think they understand."
The colour flamed in her face and she bowed it, resting her elbows on the keyboard.
"Come," he said, "don't be distressed. Does it matter what a Hun thinks? Come; let's be cheerful. Can you hum for me 'La Brabançonne'?"[pg 248]
She did not reply.
"Well, never mind," he said. "But it's a grand battle anthem.... We Americans have one.... It's out of fashion. And after all, I had rather hear 'La Brabançonne' when the time comes.... What a terrible admission! But what Americans have done to my country is far more terrible. The nation's sick—sick!... I prefer 'La Brabançonne' for the time being."
The Prussians entered Nivelle a little before dawn. The airman had been watching the street below. Down there in the slight glow from the cinders of what once had been a cottage a cat had been squatting, staring at the bed of coals, as though she were once more installed upon the family hearthstone.