the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第66节
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For Don Marcelo there now began an absurd life of the most extraordinary events； an experience which was going to last four days。 In his life history； this period represented a long parenthesis of stupefaction； slashed by the most horrible visions。
Not wishing to meet these men again； he abandoned his own bedroom； taking refuge on the top floor in the servants' quarters； near the room selected by the Warden and his family。 In vain the good woman kept offering him things to eat as the night came onhe had no appetite。 He lay stretched out on the bed； preferring to be alone with his thoughts in the dark。 When would this martyrdom ever come to an end？ 。 。 。
There came into his mind the recollection of a trip which he had made to London some years ago。 In his imagination he again saw the British Museum and certain Assyrian bas…reliefsrelics of bestial humanity； which had filled him with terror。 The warriors were represented as burning the towns； the prisoners were beheaded in heaps； the pacific countrymen were marching in lines with chains on their necks； forming strings of slaves。 Until that moment he had never realized the advance which civilization had made through the centuries。 Wars were still breaking out now and then； but they had been regulated by the march of progress。 The life of the prisoner was now held sacred； the captured towns must be respected； there existed a complete code of international law to regulate how men should be killed and nations should combat； causing the least possible harm。 。 。 。 But now he had just seen the primitive realities of war。 The same as that of thousands of years ago！ The men with the helmets were proceeding in exactly the same way as those ferocious and perfumed satraps with blue mitre and curled beard。 The adversary was shot although not carrying arms； the prisoner died of shot or blow from the gun； the civilian captives were sent in crowds to Germany like those of other centuries。 Of what avail was all our so…called Progress？ Where was our boasted civilization？ 。 。 。
He was awakened by the light of a candle in his eyes。 The Warden's wife had come up again to see if he needed anything。
〃Oh； what a night； Master！ Just hear them yelling and singing！ The bottles that they have emptied！ 。 。 。 They are in the dining room。 You better not see them。 Now they are amusing themselves by breaking the furniture。 Even the Count is drunk； drunk； too； is that Commandant that you were talking with； and all the rest。 。 。 。 Some of them are dancing half…naked。〃
She evidently wished to keep quiet about certain details； but her love of talking got the better of her discretion。 Some of the officers had dressed themselves up in the hats and gowns of her mistress and were dancing and shouting； imitating feminine seductiveness and affectations。 。 。 。 One of them had been greeted with roars of enthusiasm upon presenting himself with no other clothing than a 〃combination〃 of Mademoiselle Chichi's。 Many were taking obscene delight in soiling the rugs and filling the sideboard drawers with indescribable filth； using the finest linens that they could lay their hands on。
Her master silenced her peremptorily。 Why tell him such vile； disgusting things？ 。 。 。
〃And we are obliged to wait on them！〃 wailed the woman。 〃They are beside themselves； they appear like different beings。 The soldiers are saying that they are going to resume their march at daybreak。 There is a great battle on； and they are going to win it； but it is necessary that everyone of them should fight in it。 。 。 。 My poor； sick husband just can't stand it any longer。 So many humiliations 。 。 。 and my little girl 。 。 。 。 My little girl！〃
The child was her greatest anxiety。 She had her well hidden away； but she was watching uneasily the goings and comings of some of these men maddened with alcohol。 The most terrible of them all was that fat officer who had patted Georgette so paternally。
Apprehension for her daughter's safety made her hurry restlessly away； saying over and over：
〃God has forgotten the world。 。 。 。 Ay； what is ever going to become of us！〃
Don Marcelo was now tinglingly awake。 Through the open window was blowing the clear night air。 The cannonading was still going on； prolonging the conflict way into the night。 Below the castle the soldiers were intoning a slow and melodious chant that sounded like a psalm。 From the interior of the edifice rose the whoopings of brutal laughter； the crash of breaking furniture； and the mad chase of dissolute pursuit。 When would this diabolical orgy ever wear itself down？ 。 。 。 For a long time he was not at all sleepy； but was gradually losing consciousness of what was going on around him when he was roused with a start。 Near him； on the same floor； a door had fallen with a crash； unable to resist a succession of formidable batterings。 This was followed immediately by the screams of a woman； weeping； desperate supplications； the noise of a struggle； reeling steps； and the thud of bodies against the wall。 He had a presentiment that it was Georgette shrieking and trying to defend herself。 Before he could put his feet to the floor he heard a man's voice； which he was sure was the Keeper's； she was safe。
〃Ah； you villain！〃 。 。 。
Then the outbreak of a second struggle 。 。 。 a shot 。 。 。 silence！
Rushing down the hallway that ended at the stairway Desnoyers saw lights； and many men who came trooping up the stairs； bounding over several steps at a time。 He almost fell over a body from which escaped a groan of agony。 At his feet lay the Warden； his chest moving like a pair of bellows； his eyes glassy and unnaturally distended； his mouth covered with blood。 。 。 。 Near him glistened a kitchen knife。 Then he saw a man with a revolver in one hand； and holding shut with the other a broken door that someone was trying to open from within。 Don Marcelo recognized him； in spite of his greenish pallor and wild look。 It was Blumhardtanother Blumhardt with a bestial expression of terrifying ferocity and lust。
Don Marcelo could see clearly how it had all happenedthe debauchee rushing through the castle in search of his prey； the anxious father in close pursuit； the cries of the girl； the unequal struggle between the consumptive with his emergency weapon and the warrior triumphant。 The fury of his youth awoke in the old Frenchman； sweeping everything before it。 What did it matter if he did die？ 。 。 。
〃Ah； you villain！〃 he yelled； as the poor father had done。
And with clenched fists he marched up to the German； who smiled coldly and held his revolver to his eyes。 He was just going to shoot him 。 。 。 but at that instant Desnoyers fell to the floor； knocked down by those who were leaping up the stairs。 He received many blows； the heavy boots of the invaders hammering him with their heels。 He felt a hot stream pouring over his face。 Blood！ 。 。 。 He did not know whether it was his own or that of the palpitating mortal slowly dying beside him。 Then he found himself lifted from the floor by many hands which pushed him toward a man。 It was His Excellency； with his uniform burst open and smelling of wine。 Eyes and voice were both trembling。
〃My dear sir；〃 he stuttered； trying to recover this suave irony； 〃I warned you not to interfere in our affairs and you have not obeyed me。 You may now take the consequences of your lack of discretion。〃
He gave an order； and the old man felt himself pushed downstairs to the cellars underneath the castle。 Those conducting him were soldiers under the command of a petty officer whom he recognized as the Socialist。 This young professor was the only one sober； but he maintained himself erect and unapproachable with the ferocity of discipline。
He put his prisoner into an arched vault without any breathing…place except a tiny window on a level with the floor。 Many broken bottles and chests with some straw were all that was in the cave。
〃You have insulted a head officer！〃 said the official roughly； 〃and they will probably shoot you to…morrow。 Your only salvation lies in the continuance of the revels； in which case they may forget you。〃
As the door of this sub…cellar was broken； like all the others in the building； a pile of boxes and furniture was heaped in the entrance way。
Don Marcelo passed the rest of the night tormented with the cold the only thing which worried him just then。 He had abandoned all hope of life； even the images of his family seemed blotted from his memory。 He worked in the dark in order to make himself more comfortable on the chests； burrowing down into the straw for the sake of its heat。 When the morning breeze began to sift in through the little window he fell slowly into a heavy； overpowering sleep； like that of criminals condemned to death； or duellists before the fatal morning。 He thought he heard shouts in German； the galloping of horses； a distant sound of tattoo and whistle such as the battalions of the invaders made with their fifes and drums。 。 。 。 Then he lost all consciousness of his surroundings。
On opening his eyes again a ray of sunlight； slipping through the window； was tracing a little golden square on the wall； giving a regal splendor to the hanging co
