The Outrage. Annie Vivanti

on the night of July 31st.

      For the frontier?

      No, for the capital, it was believed. "But," added the young officer casting a fleeting glance at the three women, "that will be easy to ascertain."

      "Any one of ours here?" asked the older man.

      "Yes. A certain Fritz Müller, of Löhrrach."

      Chérie quivered and tightened her grasp on Louise's hand.

      "Where is this Fritz Müller?" asked the captain, looking about him.

      "Downstairs," answered the lieutenant. "He was the man who opened the door for us."

      "Well, put him in charge of the billets and see that he provides for twenty men," said the captain. "Now, as for us–" he took the paper from the other's hand. He turned it round and looked at the plan of the house roughly drawn on the back of the sheet. "Let me see … three rooms on this floor … four on the next … Glotz?" to the other and youngest officer standing silent and erect before him. "Come with me, Glotz. And bring an orderly with you." Then he glanced at Louise and Chérie. "Von Wedel"—the light-eyed officer stood at attention—"you stay here." The captain turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, followed by the second lieutenant whom he had called Glotz and two of the soldiers. The other four stood in the hall drawn up in a row, stiff and motionless as automatons.

      Von Wedel shut the door in their faces; then he turned his gaze on the three women left in his charge. He moved slowly, deliberately towards them and they backed away from him, still holding each other's hands and looking up at him with starry, startled eyes. He was very tall and broad, and towered above them. He gazed at them a long time, his very light eyes roving from Louise to Chérie, from Chérie to Mireille and back to Chérie again.

      "Well, turtle-doves," he said, at last, and laughed, "did you expect us?" The three pairs of startled eyes still looked up at him. "Is it really in our honour that you put on all this finery?"

      He moved a step nearer, and again all three drew back. "Well, why don't you answer?"

      Louise stepped a little in front of the other two as if to shield them; then she spoke in low and quavering tones—

      "Monsieur.... I hope … that you and your friends … will be good enough to leave this house very soon.... We are alone here–"

      "Permit us then to keep you company," said Von Wedel, and added, in a tone of amiable interrogation, "Your husband is not here?"

      "No," said Louise, and at the thought of Claude her underlip trembled; she looked like a child who is about to cry.

      "Too bad," said Von Wedel, putting one foot in its muddy boot on a chair and leaning forward with his elbow resting on his upraised knee. "Too bad. Well; we must await his return."

      "But," stammered Louise, "he will not return tonight."

      "Won't he?" His insolent light eyes that had been fixed on Chérie during this conversation now wandered with effrontery over the charming trepidant figure of Louise. "Why, what an ungallant husband to be sure! And may I ask where he has gone to?" He tossed the question at her carelessly while he drew a gold coroneted cigarette-case from his pocket and took from it the solitary cigarette it contained. "Your man told me he had been ordered to Namur."

      "No—to Mons," said Louise.

      "Ah yes, Mons. Interesting town"—he tapped one end of his cigarette on the palm of his hand, "fine old Cathedral of St. Waudru … four railway lines … yes. Did he go alone?"

      Mireille pinched her mother's arm.

      "Don't say," she whispered.

      The officer heard it and laughed. He took hold of the child's arm and drew her gently away from her mother's side. "Na! sieh doch einmal!" he said. "Are we not sly? Are we not knowing? Are we not diplomatic? Eh?" Holding her by her small arm he backed her away across the room, then giving her a little push he left her and turned his attention to the other two again. Louise had turned deathly pale, but Mireille, unharmed and undaunted, signalled to her from the other end of the room, signifying defiance by shrugging her shoulders and sticking her tongue out at the spruce, straight back of the enemy.

      He now stared at Chérie again, and under his insistent insolent gaze she trembled like an aspen leaf.

      "Why do you tremble?" he asked. "Are you afraid of me?"

      "Yes," murmured the girl, drooping her head.

      He laughed. "Why? I'm not a wild beast, am I? Do I look like a wild beast?" And he moved a step nearer.

      Louise stepped in front of Chérie. "My sister-in-law is very young," she said, "and is not used to the attention of strangers."

      "My good woman," replied Von Wedel with easy insolence, "go and find some cigarettes for me." And as Louise stared at him with an air of dazed stupefaction he spoke a little louder. "Cigarettes, I said. Surely in your husband's study you will find some. Preferably Turkish. Quick, my good soul. Eins, zwei, drei—go."

      After a moment's hesitation Louise turned and left the room; Mireille ran after her. Chérie darted forward to follow them, but Von Wedel took one long stride and caught her by the arm. "Halt, halt!" he said, laughing. "You stay here, my little turtle-dove, and talk to me."

      The girl flushed and paled and trembled. "What a shy dove!" he said, bending over her. "What is your name?"

      "Chérie," she murmured almost inaudibly.

      "What? 'Chérie'?" he laughed. "Did you say that to me? The same to you, Herzchen!" He sat down on a corner of the table quite close to her. "Now tell me what you are afraid of. And whom you are afraid of.... Is it of Captain Fischer? Or of me? Or of the soldiers?"

      "Of everybody," stammered Chérie.

      "Why, we are such good people," he said, blowing the cigarette-smoke in a long whiff before him, then throwing the cigarette on the carpet and stamping it out with his foot. "We would not hurt a cat—nor a dog," he added, catching sight of Amour, who came hopping down the stairs limping and yelping, "let alone such an adorable little angel as you."

      The dog came whining piteously and crouched at Chérie's feet; she bent down and lifted him up in her arms. He was evidently hurt. Von Wedel said "Good dog!" and attempted to pat him, but Amour gave a long, low growl and the officer quickly withdrew his hand.

      Louise reappeared bringing boxes of cigars and cigarettes, which she placed on the table. Mireille, who followed her, caught sight of Amour in Chérie's arms and heard him whine.

      "What have you done to him?" she said, turning fiercely on Von Wedel.

      He laughed. "Well, well, what a little vixen!" he said. Then he added, "You can take the dog away. I don't like dogs." Chérie moved at once towards the staircase, but he stopped her again. "No, no; give the dog to the vixen. You stay here."

      Chérie obeyed, shrinking away from him to Louise's side, while Mireille ran upstairs with Amour and took him to Chérie's room. She kissed him on his rough black head and patted his poor paws and put him down on a cushion in a corner. Then she ran down again to see what was going on. Amour left alone whined and howled in hideous long-drawn tones of indignation and suffering. When a few minutes later Captain Fischer, followed by Lieutenant Glotz and the two soldiers on his round of inspection, came downstairs, he stopped on the landing.

      "What is that noise? Who is crying?" he asked.

      "The dog, sir," said Glotz, "whom you kicked downstairs before."

      "Hideous sound!" said Captain Fischer; "stop it."

      And one of the soldiers went in and stopped it.

      Captain Fischer went downstairs, followed by Glotz. When they entered the room Von Wedel turned away from Chérie and stood at attention.

      Outside the boom of the cannon had ceased, but there were loud bursts of firing in the distance, sudden volleys which ceased as abruptly as they began. The three officers seemed to pay no heed to these sounds; they stood speaking together, the captain issuing brief orders, Von Wedel asking a question or two, and Glotz saying "Ja, Herr Kapitän—ja, Herr Leutnant" at brief