"Not before having some refreshments," said Madame Angellier.
"Oh, but we don't want to impose on you…"
"Don't be ridiculous…"
They made quiet, courteous little noises when Marthe brought in the pitcher of orangeade and the shortbread. Now that they felt reassured, they began talking about the war. They feared a German victory, yet weren't altogether happy at the idea that the English might win. All in all, they preferred everyone to be defeated. They blamed their difficulties on the fact that the desire for pleasure seemed to have taken hold of everyone. Then the conversation returned to more personal matters. Madame Perrin and Madame Angellier discussed their poor health. Madame Perrin went into great detail about her last bout of rheumatism while Madame Angellier listened impatiently and, as soon as Madame Perrin paused for breath, interjected, "It's the same with me…" and talked about her own bout of rheumatism.
Madame Perrin's daughters discreetly ate their shortbread. Outside, the rain kept falling.
14
By the next morning the rain had stopped and the sun shone down on the damp, joyous ground. It was early and Lucile, who hadn't slept well, was sitting on a garden bench waiting for the German to come out of the house. As soon as she saw him she went up to him and explained her request; both of them sensed the hidden presence of Madame Angellier and the cook, not to mention the neighbours, who were spying on the couple from behind closed shutters as they stood on the path.
"If you would accompany me to these ladies' house," said the German, "I will have all the things they've requested gathered together for you; but a number of our soldiers have been billeted in this house since the owners abandoned it and I think the damage has been considerable. Let's go and see."
They walked through the village, side by side, barely speaking.
Lucile saw Madame Perrin's black veil fluttering from a window of the Hôtel des Voyageurs. They were watching Lucile and her companion with curiosity, complicity and a vague sense of approval. It was clear that everyone knew she was on her way to extract from the enemy the crumbs of his conquest (in the form of a set of false teeth, a china dinner service and other household items of sentimental value).
An old woman who couldn't even look at a German uniform without being terrified nevertheless came up to Lucile and whispered, "That's it… Well done! At least you're not afraid of them…"
The officer smiled. "They think you're Judith going to murder Holofernes in his tent. I hope you don't have the same evil plan! Here we are. Please come in, Madame."
He pushed open the heavy gate. The little bell that used to tell the Perrins they had visitors tinkled sadly. In just one year the garden had become so neglected it would have broken your heart to look at it, had it not been such a beautiful day. But it was a May morning, the day after a storm. The grass was sparkling, the damp paths overgrown with daisies, cornflowers and all sorts of other wild flowers that gleamed in the sun. The flower beds were a riot of shrubs, and fresh clusters of lilacs gently brushed against Lucile's face as she walked by. In the house they found about a dozen young soldiers and all the children from the village who spent happy days playing in the entrance hall (like the Angelliers' hall, it was dark, with a vaguely musty smell, greenish panes of glass in the windows and hunting trophies on the walls). Lucile recognised the cart maker's two little girls, sitting on the lap of a blond soldier who had a wide grin on his face. The carpenter's little boy was playing horsy on the back of another soldier. The illegitimate children of the dressmaker, all four of them, aged two to six, were lying on the floor, plaiting crowns out of forget-me-nots and the small, sweet-smelling carnations that had once lined the formal flower beds.
The soldiers leapt to attention the way they do in the army: chin up, eyes straight ahead, the whole body so tense you could see the veins in their necks throbbing slightly.
"Would you be so kind as to give me your list," the officer said to Lucile. "We can look for the things together."
He read it and smiled.
"Let's start with the sofa. It must be in the sitting room. Over here, I assume?"
He opened the door and went into a large room full of furniture-much of it knocked over or broken. The paintings had been removed and stacked against the walls; several had been kicked in. The floor was scattered with scraps of newspaper, bits of straw (vestiges, presumably, of the mass exodus in June 1940) and cigar stubs left by the invaders. On a pedestal stood a stuffed bulldog with a broken muzzle and a crown of dead flowers.
"What a terrible sight," said Lucile, upset.
In spite of everything there was something comical about the room and especially about the sheepish expression on the faces of the soldiers and the officer.
Seeing the look of reproach on Lucile's face, the officer said sharply, "My parents used to have a villa on the Rhine. Your soldiers occupied it during the last war. They smashed rare, priceless musical instruments that had been in the family for two hundred years and tore up books that once belonged to Goethe."
Lucile couldn't help but smile; he was defending himself in the same crude and indignant way a little boy does when accused of some misdeed: "But I wasn't the one who started it, it was the others…"
She felt a very feminine pleasure, an almost sensual, sweet sensation at seeing this childish look on a face that was, after all, the face of an implacable enemy, a hardened warrior. For we can't pretend, she thought, that we aren't all in his hands. We're defenceless. If we still have our lives and our possessions, it's only because of his goodwill. She was almost afraid of the feelings growing within her. It was like stroking a wild animal-an exquisitely intense sensation, a mixture of tenderness and terror.
Wanting to hold on to the feeling a little longer, she frowned. "You should be ashamed! These empty houses were under the protection of the German army, the honour of the German army!"
As he listened to her, he lightly tapped the back of his boots with his riding crop. He turned towards his soldiers and gave them a good dressing down. Lucile realised he was ordering them to get the house back in order, to fix what had been broken, to polish the floors and the furniture. His voice, when he spoke German, especially with that commanding tone, took on a sharp, resonant quality. Hearing it gave Lucile the same pleasure that a slightly rough kiss might-the kind of kiss that ends with a little bite. She slowly brought her hands to her burning face: Stop it! she said to herself. Stop thinking about him; you're asking for trouble.
She took a few steps towards the door. "I'm going home. You have the list; you can ask your soldiers to find everything."
In a flash he was by her side. "Please don't go away angry, I beg of you. Everything will be repaired as well as possible, I give you my word. Listen! Let's let them look for everything; they can put it all in a wheelbarrow and, under supervision from you, take it straight over to the Perrin ladies. I'll go with you to apologise. I can't do more than that. In the meantime, come into the garden. We could go for a little walk and I'll pick some beautiful flowers for you."
"No! I'm going home."
"You can't," he said, taking her by the arm. "You promised the ladies you'd bring them their things. You have to stay and make sure your orders are carried out."
They were outside now, standing on a path bordered with lilacs in full bloom. A multitude of honeybees, bumblebees and wasps were flying all around them, diving into the flowers, drinking their honey and settling on Lucile's arms and hair; she was frightened and laughed nervously.
"We can't stay here. Everywhere I go is dangerous!"
"Let's walk on a little further."
They came across the village children at the back of the garden. Some of them were playing in the flower beds where everything had been pulled up and trampled; others had climbed the pear trees and were breaking off the branches.