"What happened to M. Haas, the house-painter, is much worse."

"What then?"

"He knew that he could not paint an inscription in French on a shop any more. M. Haas would never--I know it--have painted a stroke of a brush in contravention of the law. But he thought he could at least put a coat of varnish on the sign he was painting, where he had painted a long time ago the word '_Chemiserie_.' They made him appear and threatened to take proceedings against him, because he was preserving the inscription with his varnish. Why, that was last October!"

"Oh, oh, would not M. Hamm be pleased if the rain, the wind, and the thunder threw down the sign of the inn here, which is called: 'Le Pigeon blanc' as happened to 'La Cigogne.'"

It was old Josephine the bilberry-picker who said to the farmer's wife, who at this moment appeared on the threshold of her house:

"Sad Alsace! How gay she was when we were young! Wasn't she, Madame Rams.p.a.cher?"

"Yes. Now--for nothing--evictions, lawsuits, and prison! The police everywhere."

"You had better keep silence!" said Rams.p.a.cher in a reproachful tone.

The younger son Francis took his mother's side.

"There are no traitors here. And then, how can one keep silence?

They are too hard. That is why so many young men emigrate!"

From his corner in the shadow, Jean looked at these young girls who were listening--with flashing eyes, some motionless and erect, others continuing to bend and rise over their work of stripping the hop-plants.

"Work then--instead of so much chattering!" said the master's voice.

"One hundred and seventy unsubdued, and condemned by the tribunal at Saverne, in a single day, last January," said Juliette with a laugh that shook her hair. "One hundred and seventy!"

Francis, the great careless boy, who was close by Jean Oberle at this moment, turned a basketful of hops on the shelf, and bending towards him said:

"It is at Grand Fontaine that one can easily get over the frontier,"

he said in low tones. "The best crossing, Monsieur Oberle, is between Grande Fontaine and Les Minieres. The frontier is opposite, like a spur. That is the nearest part, but one has to take care of the Forest Guard and the Custom officials. Often they stop people to ask where they are going."

Jean trembled. What did that mean? He began:

"Why do you speak to...?"

But the young peasant had turned away, and was going on with his work. Doubtless he had spoken for himself. He had trusted his plan to his melancholy and silent countryman, whom he would amuse, astonish, or sympathise with.

But Jean had been touched by this confidence.

A clear voice called out:

"There is the carriage coming into the town. It is going to pa.s.s M.

Bastian's avenue!"

All the hop-pickers raised their heads. Little Franzele was standing up near the pillar which kept the door open--leaning the top of her body over the wall, her curly hair blown by the wind. She was looking to the right, whence came the sound of wheels. In the yard the women had stopped working. She murmured:

"The Prefect, there he is--he is going to pa.s.s."

The farmer, drawn from his work by the women's sudden silence as much as by the child's voice, turned towards the yard where the hop-pickers were listening motionless to the noise of the wheels and the horses coming nearer. He commanded:

"Shut the cart-door, Franzele!"

He added, muttering:

"I will not let him see how it is done here--in my place!"

The little girl pushed-to one of the sides of the door, then curious, having stuck her head out again:

"Oh, how funny. Well, he cannot say that he saw many people. They have not disturbed themselves much on his account! There are only the German women of course. They are all there near 'la Cigogne.'"

"Will you shut that door?" replied the farmer angrily.

This time he was obeyed. The second side of the door shut quickly against the first. The twenty persons present heard the noise of the carriage rolling in the silence of the town of Alsheim. There were eyes in all the shadowy corners behind the windows--but no one went outside their doors, and in the gardens the men who were digging the borders seemed so entirely absorbed in their work as to have heard nothing.

When the carriage was about fifty yards past the farm, their imaginations were full of what it would be like at the Oberles'

farther on at the other end of the village, and taking up a handful of hop-stalks, the women and girls asked each other curiously what the son of M. Oberle was going to do--and they looked stealthily towards the barn. He was no longer there.

He had risen, that he might not break his word, and having run all the way, and pale in spite of his having run, he arrived at the gate of the kitchen garden at the very moment when the Prefect's carriage, on the other side of the demesne, was pa.s.sing through the park gates.

All the household was ready. Lucienne and Madame Oberle were seated near the mantelpiece. They did not speak to each other. The factory owner, who had returned from his office half-an-hour ago, had put on the coat he wore to go to Strasburg, and a white waistcoat--with his arms behind his back he watched the carriage coming round the lawn.

The programme was carried out according to the plans arranged by him. The official personage who was just entering the grounds was bringing to M. Oberle the a.s.surance of German favour. For a moment of inflated pride which thrilled him M. Oberle saw in imagination the palace of the Reichstag.

"Monica," he said, turning round as breathless as after a long walk, "has your son returned?"

Seated before him in the yellow chair near the fireplace, looking very thin, her features drawn with emotion, Madame Oberle answered:

"He will be here because he said so!"

"The fact that he is not here is more certain still. And Count Ka.s.sewitz is coming--and Victor? I suppose he is at the steps to show him in, as I told him?"

"I suppose so."

M. Joseph Oberle, furious at the constraint of his wife--at her disapproval, which he encountered even in this submission, crossed the room and pulled the old bell rope violently, and opening the door which led to the hall saw that Victor was not in his place.

He had to draw back, for the sound of footsteps coming up were mingled with the sound of the bell.

M. Joseph Oberle placed himself near the fireplace facing the door--near his wife. Footsteps sounded on the gravel, on the granite of the steps. However, some one had come in answer to the bell. The door was pushed open the next moment and the Oberles perceived at the same time that the old cook Salome, white as wax, her mouth set, was opening the door without saying a word, and M. von Ka.s.sewitz close behind her was coming in.

He was very tall, very broad shouldered, and clad in a tight-fitting frock-coat. His face was composed of two incongruous elements, a round bulging forehead, round cheeks, a round nose, then standing straight out from the skin in stiff locks, eyebrows, moustache, and short, pointed beard. This face of a German soldier composed of points and arches was animated by two piercing lively eyes, which ought to have been blue--for his hair was yellow--but which never showed clearly through the shadow of the spreading eyebrows, and because of the man's habit of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyelids. His hair, spa.r.s.e on the top, was brushed up well from the occiput to just above the ears.

M. Joseph Oberle met him and spoke in German.

"M. Prefect, we are very greatly honoured by this visit. Really to have taken this trouble!"

The official took the hand that M. Oberle held out, and pressed it.

But he did not look at him and he did not stop. His steps sounded heavily on the thick drawing-room carpet. He was looking at the thin apparition in mourning near the fireplace. And the enormous man bowed several times very stiffly.