the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第65节

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　the　attack　so　as　to　overcome　the　last　resistance。　。　。　。　　If　only　I　do　not　fall！〃　。　。　。

Thoughts　of　the　possibility　of　death　the　following　day　contracted　his　forehead　in　a　scowl　of　hatred。　　A　deep；　vertical　line　was　parting　his　eyebrows。　　He　frowned　ferociously　at　Desnoyers　as　though　making　him　responsible　for　his　death　and　the　trouble　of　his　family。　For　a　few　moments　Don　Marcelo　could　hardly　recognize　this　man；　transformed　by　warlike　passions；　as　the　sweet…natured　and　friendly　Blumhardt　of　a　little　while　before。

The　sun　was　beginning　to　set　when　a　sub…officer；　the　one　of　the　Social…Democracy；　came　running　in　search　of　the　Commandant。　Desnoyers　could　not　understand　what　was　the　matter　because　they　were　speaking　in　German；　but　following　the　direction　of　the　messenger's　continual　pointing；　he　saw　beyond　the　iron　gates　a　group　of　country　people　and　some　soldiers　with　guns。　　Blumhardt；　after　a　brief　reflection；　started　toward　the　group　and　Don　Marcelo　behind　him。

Soon　he　saw　a　village　lad　in　the　charge　of　some　Germans　who　were　holding　their　bayonets　to　his　breast。　　His　face　was　colorless；　with　the　whiteness　of　a　wax　candle。　　His　shirt；　blackened　with　soot；　was　so　badly　torn　that　it　told　of　a　hand…to…hand　struggle。　　On　one　temple　was　a　gash；　bleeding　badly。　　A　short　distance　away　was　a　woman　with　dishevelled　hair；　holding　a　baby；　and　surrounded　by　four　children　all　covered　with　black　grime　as　though　coming　from　a　coal　mine。

The　woman　was　pleading　desperately；　raising　her　hands　appealingly；　her　sobs　interrupting　her　story　which　she　was　uselessly　trying　to　tell　the　soldiers；　incapable　of　understanding　her。　　The　petty　officer　convoying　the　band　spoke　in　German　with　the　Commandant　while　the　woman　besought　the　intervention　of　Desnoyers。　　When　she　recognized　the　owner　of　the　castle；　she　suddenly　regained　her　serenity；　believing　that　he　could　intercede　for　her。

That　husky　young　boy　was　her　son。　　They　had　all　been　hiding　since　the　day　before　in　the　cellar　of　their　burned　house。　　Hunger　and　the　danger　of　death　from　asphyxiation　had　forced　them　finally　to　venture　forth。　　As　soon　as　the　Germans　had　seen　her　son；　they　had　beaten　him　and　were　going　to　shoot　him　as　they　were　shooting　all　the　young　men。　They　believed　that　the　lad　was　twenty　years　old；　the　age　of　a　soldier；　and　in　order　that　he　might　not　join　the　French　army；　they　were　going　to　kill　him。

〃It's　a　lie！〃　shrieked　the　mother。　　〃He　is　not　more　than　eighteen　。　。　。　not　eighteen　。　。　。　a　little　lesshe's　only　seventeen。〃

She　turned　to　those　who　were　following　behind；　in　order　to　implore　their　testimonysad　women；　equally　dirty；　their　ragged　garments　smelling　of　fire；　poverty　and　death。　　All　assented；　adding　their　outcries　to　those　of　the　mother。　　Some　even　went　so　far　as　to　say　that　the　overgrown　boy　was　only　sixteen　。　。　。　fifteen！　　And　to　this　feminine　chorus　was　added　the　wailing　of　the　little　ones　looking　at　their　brother　with　eyes　distended　with　terror。

The　Commandant　examined　the　prisoner　while　he　listened　to　the　official。　　An　employee　of　the　township　had　said　carelessly　that　the　child　was　about　twenty；　never　dreaming　that　with　this　inaccuracy　he　was　causing　his　death。

〃It　was　a　lie！〃　repeated　the　mother　guessing　instinctively　what　they　were　saying。　　〃That　man　made　a　mistake。　　My　boy　is　robust　and；　therefore；　looks　older　than　he　is；　but　he　is　not　twenty。　。　。　。　　The　gentleman　from　the　castle　who　knows　him　can　tell　you　so。　　Is　it　not　so；　Monsieur　Desnoyers？〃

Since；　in　her　maternal　desperation；　she　had　appealed　to　his　protection；　Don　Marcelo　believed　that　he　ought　to　intervene；　and　so　he　spoke　to　the　Commandant。　　He　knew　this　youth　very　well　（he　did　not　ever　remember　having　seen　him　before）　and　believed　that　he　really　was　under　twenty。

〃And　even　if　he　were　of　age；〃　he　added；　〃is　that　a　crime　to　shoot　a　man　for？〃

Blumhardt　did　not　reply。　　Since　he　had　recovered　his　functions　of　command；　he　ignored　absolutely　Don　Marcelo's　existence。　　He　was　about　to　say　something；　to　give　an　order；　but　hesitated。　　It　might　be　better　to　consult　His　Excellency　。　。　。　and　seeing　that　he　was　going　toward　the　castle；　Desnoyers　marched　by　his　side。

〃Commandant；　this　cannot　be；〃　he　commenced　saying。　　〃This　lacks　common　sense。　　To　shoot　a　man　on　the　suspicion　that　he　may　be　twenty　years　old！〃

But　the　Commandant　remained　silent　and　continued　on　his　way。　　As　they　crossed　the　bridge；　they　heard　the　sound　of　the　pianoa　good　omen；　Desnoyers　thought。　　The　aesthete　who　had　so　touched　him　with　his　impassioned　voice；　was　going　to　say　the　saving　word。

On　entering　the　salon；　he　did　not　at　first　recognize　His　Excellency。　He　saw　a　man　sitting　at　the　piano　wearing　no　clothing　but　a　Japanese　dressing　gowna　woman's　rose…colored　kimono；　embroidered　with　golden　birds；　belonging　to　Chichi。　　At　any　other　time；　he　would　have　burst　into　roars　of　laughter　at　beholding　this　scrawny；　bony　warrior　with　the　cruel　eyes；　with　his　brawny　braceleted　arms　appearing　through　the　loose　sleeves。　　After　taking　his　bath；　the　Count　had　delayed　putting　on　his　uniform；　luxuriating　in　the　silky　contact　of　the　feminine　tunic　so　like　his　Oriental　garments　in　Berlin。　Blumhardt　did　not　betray　the　slightest　astonishment　at　the　aspect　of　his　general。　　In　the　customary　attitude　of　military　erectness；　he　spoke　in　his　own　language　while　the　Count　listened　with　a　bored　air；　meanwhile　passing　his　fingers　idly　over　the　keys。

A　shaft　of　sunlight　from　a　nearby　window　was　enveloping　the　piano　and　musician　in　a　halo　of　gold。　　Through　the　window；　too；　was　wafting　the　poetry　of　the　sunsetthe　rustling　of　the　leaves；　the　hushed　song　of　the　birds　and　the　hum　of　the　insects　whose　transparent　wings　were　glowing　like　sparks　in　the　last　rays　of　the　sun。　　The　General；　annoyed　that　his　dreaming　melancholy　should　be　interrupted　by　this　inopportune　visit；　cut　short　the　Commandant's　story　with　a　gesture　of　command　and　a　word　。　。　。　one　word　only。　　He　said　no　more。　　He　took　two　puffs　from　a　Turkish　cigarette　that　was　slowly　scorching　the　wood　of　the　piano；　and　again　ran　his　hands　over　the　ivory　keys；　catching　up　the　broken　threads　of　the　vague　and　tender　improvisation　inspired　by　the　gloaming。

〃Thanks；　Your　Excellency；〃　said　the　gratified　Desnoyers；　surmising　his　magnanimous　response。

The　Commandant　had　disappeared；　nor　could　the　Frenchman　find　him　outside　the　castle。　　A　soldier　was　pacing　up　and　down　near　the　iron　gates　in　order　to　transmit　commands；　and　the　guards　were　pushing　back　with　blows　from　their　guns；　a　screaming　group　of　women　and　tiny　children。　　The　entrance　was　entirely　cleared！　undoubtedly　the　crowds　were　returning　to　the　village　after　the　General's　pardon。　。　。　。　Desnoyers　was　half　way　down　the　avenue　when　he　heard　a　howling　sound　composed　of　many　voices；　a　hair…raising　shriek　such　as　only　womanly　desperation　can　send　forth。　　At　the　same　time；　the　air　was　vibrating　with　snaps；　the　loud　cracking　sound　that　he　knew　from　the　day　before。　　Shots！　。　。　。　　He　imagined　that　on　the　other　side　of　the　iron　railing　there　were　some　writhing　bodies　struggling　to　escape　from　powerful　arms；　and　others　fleeing　with　bounds　of　fear。　　He　saw　running　toward　him　a　horror…stricken；　sobbing　woman　with　her　hands　to　her　head。　　It　was　the　wife　of　the　Keeper　who　a　little　while　before　had　joined　the　desperate　group　of　women。

〃Oh；　don't　go　on；　Master；〃　she　called　stopping　his　hurried　step。　〃They　have　killed　him。　。　。　。　　They　have　just　shot　him。〃

Don　Marcelo　stood　rooted　to　the　ground。　　Shot！　。　。　。　and　after　the　General's　pardon！　。　。　。　　Suddenly　he　ran　back　to　the　castle；　hardly　knowing　what　he　was　doing；　and　soon　reached　the　salon。　　His　Excellency　was　still　at　the　piano。　　humming　in　low　tones；　his　eyes　moistened　by　the　poesy　of　his　dreams。　　But　the　breathless　old　gentleman　did　not　stop　to　listen。

〃They　have　shot　him；　Your　Excellency。　。　。　。　　They　have　just　killed　him　in　spite　of　your　order。〃

The　smile　which　crossed　the　Count's　face　immediately　informed　him　of　his　mistake。

〃That　is　war；　my　dear　sir；〃　said　the　player；　pausing　for　a　moment。　〃War　with　its　cruel　necessities。　。　。　。　　It　is　always　expedient　to　destroy　the　enemy　of　to…morrow。〃

And　with　a　pedantic　air　as　though　he　were　giving　a　lesson；　he　discoursed　about　the　Orientals；　great　masters　of　the　art　of　living。　One　of　the　personages　most　admired　by　him　was　a　certain　Sultan　of　the　Turkish　conquest　who；　with　his　own　hands；　had　strangled　the　sons　of　the　adversary。　　〃Our　foes　do　not　come　into　the　world　on　horseback　and　brandishing　the　lance；〃　said　that　hero。　　〃All　are　born　as　children；　and　it　is　advisable　to　wipe　them　from　the　face　of　the　earth　before　they　grow　up。〃

Desnoyers　listened　without　taking　it　in。　　One　thought　only　was　occupying　his　mind。　。　。　。　　That　man　that　he　had　supposed　just；　that　sentimentalist　so　affected　by　his　own　singing；　had；　between　two　arpeggios；　coldly　given　the　order　for　death！　。　。　。

The　Count　made　a　gesture　of　impatience。　　He　might　retire　now；　and　he　counselled　him　to　be　more　discreet　in　the　future；　avoiding　mixing　himself　up　in　the　affairs　of　the　service。　　Then　he　turned　his　back；　running　his　hands　over　the　piano；　and　giving　himself　up　to　harmonious　melancholy。

For　Don　Marcelo　there　now　began　an　absurd　life　of　the　most　extraordinary　events；　an　experience　which　was　go