The Debacle - Emile Zola [208]
Jean, more down-to-earth and more thick-skinned, was only concerned with their silliness in not having brought away a loaf each. In the sudden scurry of their departure they had even left without eating anything, and now once again hunger was tiring them out. Other prisoners must have been in the same state, for many were holding out money and begging to be sold something. One very tall man in particular, who looked terribly ill, was waving a gold coin with his long arm over the heads of the escorting soldiers, and despairing of finding anything to buy. Then it was that Jean, who was certainly on the look-out, spotted in the distance a pile of a dozen loaves in front of a baker’s shop. Quickly, before the others, he threw down five francs and tried to pick up two of the loaves. Then as the Prussian near him brutally shoved him back, he insisted on trying at any rate to recover his money. But already the captain in charge of the column was running up. He was a bald-headed little man with an arrogant face, and he threatened Jean with the butt of his revolver and swore he would crack open the skull of the first man who dared to move. They all lowered their heads and looked down, and the march continued with the thud of feet and the resentful submissiveness of a herd of animals.
‘Oh to give that one a clout!’ Maurice muttered furiously. ‘A good back-hander and ram his teeth in!’
After that he couldn’t bear the sight of this captain, with his supercilious face that cried out to be hit. Now that they were entering Sedan proper over the Meuse bridge, the scenes of brutality recurred, and there were more of them. A woman, probably a mother, wanted to kiss a young sergeant and was pushed away so violently with a rifle-butt that she fell on the ground. On the Place Turenne the townspeople were rough-handled because they threw food to the prisoners. In the Grande-Rue one of the prisoners slipped down as he was taking a bottle a lady gave him, and was kicked to his feet again. For a whole week now Sedan had been witnessing this human livestock from the defeat being driven along with sticks, but could not get used to it, and with each new lot was moved by a sullen fever of pity and revolt.
Jean was thinking of Henriette too, and then he suddenly thought of Delaherche. He nudged his friend.
‘I say, keep your eyes open in a minute if we go along that street!’
And indeed, as soon as they entered rue Maqua, they caught sight of several heads hanging out of one of the enormous windows of the mill. Then they recognized Delaherche and his wife Gilberte leaning out, with the tall, austere figure of Madame Delaherche standing behind them. They had some loaves of bread and he was throwing them down to the hungry men holding out shaky, imploring hands.
Maurice at once saw that his sister was not there, but Jean was worried at the speed with which the loaves were flying, and afraid there would be none left for them. He waved his arms and yelled:
‘Save some for us! Save some for us!’
It was almost a happy surprise for the Delaherches. Their sombre, compassionate faces lit up and they could not restrain gestures of joy at the meeting. Gilberte insisted on throwing the last loaf into Jean’s arms, which she did with such charming clumsiness that she burst into a peal of pretty laughter.
Not being able to stop, Maurice turned round backwards and as he went along shouted an anxious question:
‘What about Henriette? Henriette?’
Delaherche answered with a long sentence, but his voice was lost in the tramp of feet. He must have realized that the young man had not caught what he said, for he made many signs, and repeated one especially, southwards. But already the column was entering rue du Ménil, and the façade of the factory, with the three heads leaning out, disappeared, but a hand still waved a handkerchief.
‘What did he say?’ asked Jean.
Maurice was very upset and still vainly looking back.
‘I don’t know, I didn’t understand… Now I shall be worried so long as I don’t get any news.’
The tramp went on, with the