The Debacle - Emile Zola [211]
But the two soldiers went for Loubet on the ground. The captain rushed over in a furious temper, talking of making an example, and with this encouragement kicks and blows with rifle-butts continued to rain down until, by the time the poor creature was picked up, he had one arm broken and his head split open. Before they reached Mouzon he died in a little cart in which some peasant had agreed to take him.
‘You see what I mean,’ was all Jean murmured in Maurice’s ear.
The look they both cast at the impenetrable wood expressed their loathing of the criminal now running away in freedom, while in the end they felt full of pity for his victim, poor devil, who was a slippery customer and not much cop to be sure, but all the same a lively chap, resourceful and no fool. So however clever you were you got your packet sometime!
At Mouzon, in spite of this terrible object-lesson, Maurice was once again plagued by his obsession to escape. They were now in such a state of weariness that the Prussians had to help their prisoners to put up the few tents available. The camp site was in a low-lying and marshy position near the town, and the worst of it was that as another party had camped there the day before the ground was almost covered with excrement – it was a real cesspool, disgustingly filthy. They had to keep themselves out of it by putting on the ground some big flat stones which fortunately they discovered not far away. But the evening was not so bad, as the Prussians relaxed their discipline a little now that the captain had disappeared, presumably to some inn. First of all the sentries did not object when some children threw the prisoners some fruit, apples and pears, over their heads. Then they allowed people from round about to come into the camp, and soon there was a crowd of impromptu dealers, men and women, selling bread, wine and even cigars. Everyone who had any money was eating, drinking and smoking. In the fading evening light it looked like the corner of a fair, busy and noisy.
But behind their tent Maurice was getting worked up again, and saying over and over again to Jean:
‘I can’t stand any more, I’m off as soon as it’s dark… Tomorrow we shall get further away from the frontier and it will be too late.’
‘All right, let’s go,’ Jean said, for his own resistance was wearing down and he, too, was giving in to this mania for escape. ‘We shall soon know if it costs us our lives.’
But he did begin to examine the people selling their wares round about. Some of the men had got hold of working smocks and trousers, and it was rumoured that kindly disposed people had set up real depots of clothing to help prisoners to escape. And then almost at once his attention was caught by a pretty girl, tall and fair, with lovely eyes, who looked about sixteen, and who was holding a basket with three loaves in it. She was not crying her wares like the others, and had an attractive but self-conscious smile and was walking nervously. He looked hard at her and their eyes met and held each other’s for a moment. Then she came over with the diffident smile of a pretty girl asking if she could help.
‘Do you want some bread?’
He did not answer, but made a little questioning sign. When she nodded he ventured to whisper very softly:
‘Got any clothes?’
‘Yes, under the bread.’
Then she made up her mind to cry her wares very loud: ‘Bread! Bread! Who wants to buy bread?’ But when Maurice tried to slip her twenty francs she quickly drew back her hand and ran off, leaving the basket behind. But they saw her look back and give them an affectionate and deeply concerned smile with her beautiful eyes.
Now that the basket was theirs Jean and Maurice found themselves in a terrible fix, for they had wandered