"С'est le premier pas qui coute. There's nothing to cry about, old woman. It had to come sooner or later." He put his hand to his hip pocket and pulled out a wallet. "Look, here's a hundred francs so that mademoiselle can buy herself a new dress. There's not much left of that one." He placed the note on the table and put his helmet back on his head. "Let's go."
They slammed the door behind them and got on their motor-cycles. The woman went into the parlour. Her daughter was lying on the divan. She was lying as he had left her and she was weeping bitterly.
Three months later Hans found himself in Soissons again. He had been in Paris with the conquering army and had ridden through the Arc de Triomphe on his motor-cycle. He had advanced with the army first to Tours and then to Bordeaux. He'd seen very little fighting. The only French soldiers he'd seen were prisoners. The campaign had been the greatest spree he could ever have imagined. After the armistice he had spent a month in Paris. He'd sent picture postcards to his family in Bavaria and bought them all presents. Willi, because he knew the city like the palm of his hand, had stayed on, but he and the rest of his unit were sent to Soissons to join the force that was holding it. It was a nice little town and he was comfortably billeted. Plenty to eat and champagne for less than a mark a bottle in German money. When he was ordered to proceed there it had occurred to him that it would be fun to go and have a look at the girl he'd had. He'd take her a pair of silk stockings to show there was no ill-feeling. He had a good bump of locality and he thought he would be able to find the farm without difficulty. So one afternoon, when he had nothing to do, he put the silk stockings in his pocket and got on his machine. It was a lovely autumn day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and it was pretty, undulating country that he rode through. It had been fine and dry for so long that, though it was September, not even the restless poplars gave sign that the summer was drawing to an end. He took one wrong turning, which delayed him, but for all that he got to the place he sought in less than half an hour. A mongrel dog barked at him as he walked up to the door. He did not knock, but turned the handle and stepped in. The girl was sitting at the table peeling potatoes. She sprang to her feet when she saw the uniformed man.
"What d'you want?" Then she recognized him. She backed to the wall, clutching the knife in her hands. "It's you. Cochon!"
"Don't get excited. I'm not going to hurt you. Look. I've brought you some silk stockings."
"Take them away and take yourself off with them."
"Don't be silly. Drop that knife. You'll only get hurt if you try to be nasty. You needn't be afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.
She let the knife fall to the floor. He took off his helmet and sat down. He reached out with his foot and drew the knife towards him.
"Shall I peel some of your potatoes for you?"
She did not answer. He bent down for the knife and then took a potato out of the bowl and went to work on it. Her face hard, her eyes hostile, she stood against the wall and watched him. He smiled at her disarmingly.
"Why do you look so cross? I didn't do you much harm, you know. I was excited, we all were, they'd talked of the invincible French army and the Maginot line…" he finished the sentence with a chuckle. "And the wine went to my head. You might have fared worse. Women have told me that I'm not a bad-looking fellow."
She looked him up and down scornfully.
"Get out of here."
"Not untill I choose."
"If you don't go my father will go to Soissons and complain to the general."
"Much he'll care. Our orders are to make friends with the population. What's your name?"
"That's not your business."
There was a flush in her cheeks now and her angry eyes were blazing. She was prettier than he remembered her. He hadn't done so badly. She had a refinement that suggested the city-dweller rather than the peasant. He remembered her mother saying she was a teacher. Because she was almost a lady it amused him to torment her. He felt strong and healthy. He passed his hand through his curly blond hair, and giggled when he thought that many girls would have jumped at the chance she had had. His face was so deeply tanned by the summer that his eyes were stardingly blue.
"Where are your father and mother?"
"Working in the fields."
"I'm hungry. Give me a bit of bread and cheese and a glass of wine. I'll pay."
She gave a harsh laugh.
"We haven't seen cheese for three months. We haven't enough bread to stay our hunger. The French took our horses a year ago and now the Boches have taken our cows, our pigs, our chickens, everything."
"Well, they paid you for them."
"Can we eat the worthless paper they gave us?"
She began to cry.
"Are you hungry?"
"Oh, no," she answered bitterly, "we can eat like kings on potatoes and bread and turnips and lettuce. Tomorrow my father's going to Soissons to see if he can buy some horse meat."
"Listen, Miss. I'm not a bad fellow. I'll bring you a cheese, and I think I can get hold of a bit of ham."
"I don't want your presents. I'll starve before I touch the food you swine have stolen from us."
"We'll see," he said good-humouredly.
He put on his hat, got up, and with an Au revoir, mademoiselle, walked out.
He wasn't supposed to go joy-riding round the country and he had to wait to be sent on an errand before he was able to get to the farm again. It was ten days later. He walked in as unceremoniously as before and this time he found the farmer and his wife in the kitchen. It was round about noon and the woman was stirring a pot on the stove. The man was seated at table. They gave him a glance when he came in, but there was no surprise in it. Their daughter had evidendy told them of his visit. They did not speak. The woman went on with her cooking, and the man, a surly look on his face, stared at the oil-cloth on the table. But it required more than this to disconcert the good-humoured Hans.
"Bonjour, la compagnie," he said cheerfully. "I've brought you a present."
He undid the package he had with him and set out a sizable piece of Gruyere cheese, a piece of pork, and a couple of tins of sardines. The woman turned round and he smiled when he saw the light of greed in her eyes. The man looked at the foodstuff sullenly. Hans gave him his sunny grin.
"I'm sorry we had a misunderstanding the first time I came here. But you shouldn't have interfered."
At that moment the girl came in.
"What are you doing here?" she cried harshly. Then her eyes fell on the things he had brought. She swept them together and flung them at him. "Take them away. Take them."
But her mother sprang forward.
"Annette, you're crazy."
"I won't take his presents."
"It's our own food that they've stolen from us. Look at the sardines. They're Bordeaux sardines."
She picked the things up. Hans looked at the girl with a mocking smile in his light blue eyes.
"Annette's your name, is it? A pretty name. Do you grudge your parents a little food? You said you hadn't had cheese for three months. I couldn't get any ham; I did the best I could."
The farmer's wife took the lump of meat in her hands and pressed it to her bosom. You felt that she could have kissed it. Tears ran down Annette's cheeks.
"The shame of it," she groaned.
"Oh, come now, there's no shame in a bit of Gruyere and a piece of pork."