In this
rookery the young couple had kept themselves apart, and had no friends.
But it was instinctively known that something had happened to Jean, and
only one woman was bold enough to question the wife. She answered
steadily in a strange strained voice:
"They are searching the houses. We shall have them soon."
It was, however, an hour before a party of soldiers made a rough
visitation. They dragged Plon out of his mattress, and made him climb
the stairs, panting and protesting. When they reached the top garret,
Marie was sitting in the darkness, with her arms on the poor table; she
did not move as they entered.
"Bring in the lantern!" shouted the sergeant. "Now, good woman, who have
you got hiding here?"
She turned a white face upon him, speechless. Plon, who was recovering
his pomposity, pressed forward, and laid a hand on the soldier's arm.
"Don't worry her, sergeant," he said, "her husband has just been shot."
"Serve him right," said the man brutally. "Are there more of the brood
about?"
"Not a soul. They lived here alone, these two."
"Well, we'll see."
"No cupboards here," said a soldier, whose face was bleeding from a
bayonet scratch.
"There's a trap door, though," said the sergeant, holding the lantern
up to the ceiling. He glanced sharply at Marie, but she remained
immovable.
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