184#Eauty is the. Intelligence that shines in his face, his only strength is the

greatness of his soul. He’s not a barbarian, he’s civilized; he has a thousand

years of civilization behind him. I love him. I love him with all my heart and

soul.’

Hans’s face grew sullen. It had never occurred to him that Annette might care

for anyone else.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Where do you suppose he is? In Germany. A prisoner and starving. While

you eat the fat of our land. How many times have I got to tell you that I hate

you? You ask me to forgive you. Never. You want to make reparation. You fool.’

She threw her head back and there was a look of intolerable anguish on her

face. ‘Ruined. Oh, he’ll forgive me. He’s tender. But I’m tortured by the thought

that one day the suspicion may come to him that perhaps I hadn’t been

forced–that perhaps I’d given myself to you for butter and cheese and silk

stockings. I shouldn’t be the only one. And what would our life be with that

child between us, your child, a German child? Big like you, and blond like you,

and blue–eyed like you. Oh, my God, why do I have to suffer this?’

She got up and went swiftly out of the kitchen. For a minute the three were

left in silence. Hans looked ruefully at his bottle of champagne. He sighed and

rose to his feet. When he went out Madame Périer accompanied him.

‘Did you mean it when you said you would marry her?’ she asked him,

speaking in a low voice.

‘Yes. Every word. I love her.’

‘And you wouldn’t take her away? You’d stay here and work on the farm?’

‘I promise you.’

‘Evidently my old man can’t last for ever. At home you’d have to share with

your brother. Here you’d share with nobody.’

‘There’s that too.’

‘We never were in favour of Annette marrying that teacher, but our son was

alive then and he said, if she wants to marry him, why shouldn’t she? Annette

was crazy about him. But now that our son’s dead, poor boy, it’s different. Even

If she wanted to, how could she work the farm alone?’

‘It would be a shame if it was sold. I know how one feels about one’s own

land.’

They had reached the road. She took his hand and gave it a little squeeze.

‘Come again soon.’

Hans knew that she was on his side. It was a comfort to him to think that as

he rode back to Soissons. It was a bother that Annette was in love with

somebody else. Fortunately he was a prisoner; long before he was likely to be

released the baby would be born. That might change her: you could never tell

with a woman. Why, in his village there’d been a woman who was so much in

love with her husband that it had been a joke, and then she had a baby and

after that she couldn’t bear the sight of him. Well, why shouldn’t the contrary

happen too? And now that he’d offered to marry her she must see that he was

a decent sort of fellow. God, how pathetic she’d looked with her head flung

back, and how well she’d spoken! What language! An actress on the stage

couldn’t have expressed herself better, and yet it had all sounded so natural.

You had to admit that, these French people knew how to talk. Oh, she was

clever. Even when she lashed him with that bitter tongue it was a joy to listen to

her. He hadn’t had a bad education himself, but he couldn’t hold a candle to

her. Culture, that’s what she had.

185#I’m a donkey,’ he said out loud as he rode along. She’d said he was big and

strong and handsome. Would she have said that if it hadn’t meant something

to her? And she’d talked of the baby having fair hair and blue eyes like his own.

If that didn’t mean that his colouring had made an impression on her he was a

Dutchman. He chuckled. ‘Give me time. Patience, and let nature go to work.’

The weeks went by. The CO. at Soissons was an elderly, easy–going fellow

and in view of what the spring had in store for them he was content not to

drive his men too hard. The German papers told them that England was being

wrecked by the Luftwaffe and the people were in a panic. Submarines were

sinking British ships by the score and the country was starving. Revolution was

imminent. Before summer it would be all over and the Germans would be

masters of the world. Hans wrote home and told his parents that he was going

to marry a French girl and with her a fine farm. He proposed that his brother

should borrow money to buy him out of his share of the family property so

that he could increase the size of his own holding while land, owing to the war

and the exchange, could still be bought for a song. He went over the farm with

Périer. The old man listened quietly when Hans told him his ideas: the farm

would have to be restocked and as a German he would have a pull; the motor

tractor was old, he would get a fine new one from Germany, and a motor

plough. To make a farm pay you had to take advantage of modern inventions.

Madame Périer told him afterwards that her husband had said he wasn’t a bad

lad and seemed to know a lot. She was very friendly with him now and insisted

that he should share their midday meal with them on Sundays. She translated

his name into French and called him Jean. He was always ready to give a hand,

and as time went on and Annette could do less and less it was useful to have a

man about who didn’t mind doing a job of work.

Annette remained fiercely hostile. She never spoke to him except to answer

his direct questions and as soon as it was possible went to her own room.

When it was so cold that she couldn’t stay there she sat by the side of the

kitchen stove, sewing or reading, and took no more notice of him than if he

hadn’t been there. She was in radiant health. There was colour in her cheeks

and in Hans’s eyes she was beautiful. Her approaching maternity had given her

a strange dignity and he was filled with exultation when he gazed upon her.

Then one day when he was on his way to the farm he saw Madame Périer in

the road waving to him to stop. He put his brakes on hard.

‘I’ve been waiting for an hour. I thought you’d never come. You must go back.

Pierre is dead.’

‘Who’s Pierre?’

‘Pierre Gavin. The teacher Annette was going to marry.’

Hans’s heart leapt. What luck! Now he’d have his chance.

‘Is she upset?’

‘She’s not crying. When I tried to say something she bit my head off. If she

saw you today she’s capable of sticking a knife into you.’

‘It’s not my fault if he died. How did you hear?’

‘A prisoner, a friend of his, escaped through Switzerland and he wrote to

Annette. We got the letter this morning. There was a mutiny in the camp

because they weren’t given enough to eat, and the ringleaders were shot. Pierre

was one of them.’

Hans was silent. He could only think it served the man right. What did they

think that a prison camp was–the Ritz?

‘Give her time to get over the shock,’ said Madame Périer. ‘When she’s calmer

I’ll talk to her. I’ll write you a letter when you can come again.’

186#All right. You will help me, won’t you?’

‘You can be sure of that. My husband and I, we’re agreed. We talked it over

and we came to the conclusion that the only thing to do was to accept the

situation. He’s no fool, my husband, and he says the best chance for France

now is to collaborate. And take it all in all I don’t dislike you. I shouldn’t

wonder if you didn’t make Annette a better husband than that teacher. And

with the baby coming and all.’

‘I want it to be a boy,’ said Hans.

‘It’s going to be a boy. I know for certain. I’ve seen it in the coffee grounds

and I’ve put out the cards. The answer is a boy every time.’

‘I almost forgot, here are some papers for you,’ said Hans, as he turned his

cycle and prepared to mount.

He handed her three numbers of Paris–Soir. Old Périer read every evening.

He read that the French must be realistic and accept the new order that Hitler

was going to create in Europe. He read that the German submarines were

sweeping the sea. He read that the General Staff had organized to the last detail

the campaign that would bring England to her knees and that the Americans

were too unprepared, too soft and too divided to come to her help. He read that

France must take the heaven–sent opportunity and by loyal collaboration with

the Reich regain her honoured position in the new Europe. And it wasn’t

Germans who wrote it all; it was Frenchmen. He nodded his head with

approval when he read that the plutocrats and the Jews would be destroyed

and the poor man in France would at last come into his own. They were quite

right, the clever fellows who said that France was essentially an agricultural

country and its backbone was its industrious farmers. Good sense, that was.

One evening, when they were finishing their supper, ten days after the news

had come of Pierre Gavin’s death, Madame Périer, by arrangement with her

husband, said to Annette:

‘I wrote a letter to Hans a few days ago telling him to come here tomorrow.’

‘Thank you for the warning. I shall stay in my room.’

‘Oh, come, daughter, the time has passed for foolishness. You must be

realistic. Pierre is dead. Hans loves you and wants to marry you. He’s a

fine–looking fellow. Any girl would be proud of him as a husband. How can we

restock the farm without his help? He’s going to buy a tractor and a plough

with his own money. You must let bygones be bygones.’

‘You’re wasting your breath, Mother. I earned my living before, I can earn my

living again. I hate him. I hate his vanity and his arrogance. I could kill him: his

death wouldn’t satisfy me. I should like to torture him as he’s tortured me.