The officer reddened to his colorless eyebrows; his little, near-sighted eyes became stupid and fixed; he smoothed the blond down on his upper lip with hesitating fingers.
Suddenly he turned and marched out, slamming the door violently behind him.
At this impudence the eyes of the Countess began to sparkle, and an angry flush mounted to her cheeks.
“Madame,” said I, “he is only a German boy, unbalanced by his own importance and his first battle. But he will never forget this lesson; let him digest it in his own manner.”
And he did, for presently there came a polite knock at the door, and the lieutenant reappeared, bowing rigidly, one hand on his sword-hilt, the other holding his helmet by the gilt spike.
“Lieutenant von Eberbach present to apologize,” he said, jerkily, red as a beet. “Begs permission to take a half-dozen of wine; men very thirsty.”
“Lieutenant von Eberbach may take the wine,” said the Countess, calmly.
“Rudeness without excuse!” muttered the boy; 79 “beg the graciously well-born lady not to judge my regiment or my country by it. Can Lieutenant von Eberbach make amends?”
“The Lieutenant has made them,” said the Countess. “The merciful treatment of French prisoners will prove his sincerity.”
The lad made another rigid bow and got himself out of the door with more or less dignity, and the Countess drew a chair beside my sofa-chair and sat down, eyes still bright with the cinders of a wrath I had never suspected in her.