For three days he could not leave Soissons and for three days, three days and three nights, he thought of Annette and the child she would bear. Then he was able to go to the farm. He wanted to see Madame Perier by herself, and luck was with him, for he met her on the road some way from the house. She had been gathering sticks in the wood and was going home with a great bundle on her back. He stopped his motor-cycle. He knew that the friendliness she showed him was due only to the provisions he brought with him, but he didn't care; it was enough that she was mannerly, and that she was prepared to be so as long as she could get something out of him. He told her he wanted to talk to her and asked her to put her bundle down. She did as he bade. It was a grey, cloudy day, but not cold.
"I know about Annette," he said.
She started.
"How did you find out? She was set on your not knowing."
"She told me."
"That was a pretty job of work you did that evening."
"I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
She began to talk, not bitterly, not blaming him even, but as though it were a misfortune of nature, like a cow dying in giving birth to a calf or a sharp spring frost nipping the fruit trees and ruining the crop, a misfortune that human kind must accept with resignation and humility. After that dreadful night Annette had been in bed for days with a high fever.
They thought she was going out of her mind. She would scream for hours on end. There were no doctors to be got. The village doctor had been called to the colours. Even in Soissons there were only two doctors left, old men both of them and how could they get to the farm even if it had been possible to send for them? They weren't allowed to leave the fown. Even when the fever went down Annette was too ill to leave her bed, and when she got up she was so weak, so pale, it was pitiful. The shock had been terrible, and when a month went by, and another month, without her being unwell she paid no attention. She had always been irregular. It was Madame Perier who first suspected that something was wrong. She questioned Annette. They were terrified, both of them, but they weren't certain and they said nothing to Perier. When the third month came it was impossible to doubt any longer. Annette was pregnant.
They had an old Citroen in which before the war Madame Perier had taken the farm produce into the market at Soissons two mornings a week, but since the German occupation they had had nothing to sell that made the journey worth while. Petrol was almost unobtainable. But now they got it out and drove into town. The only cars to be seen were the military cars of the Germans. German soldiers lounged about. There were German signs in the streets, and on public bmldings proclamations in French signed by the Officer Commanding. Many shops were closed. They went to the old doctor they knew, and he confirmed their suspicions. But he was a devout Catholic and would not help them. When they wept he shrugged his shoulders.
"You're not the only one," he said. "Il faut souffrir."
They knew about the other doctor too and went to see him. They rang the bell and for a long time no one answered. At last the door was opened by a sad-faced woman in black, but when they asked to see the doctor she began to cry. He had been arrested by the Germans because he was a freemason, and was held as a hostage. A bomb had exploded in a cafe frequented by German officers and two had been killed and several wounded. If the guilty were not handed over before a certain date he was to be shot. The woman seemed kindly and Madame Perier told her of their trouble.
"The brutes," she said. She looked at Annette with compassion. "My poor child."
She gave them the address of a midwife in the town and told them to say that they had come from her. The midwife gave them some medicine. It made Annette so ill that she thought she was going to die, but it had no further effect. Annette was still pregnant.
That was the story that Madame Perier told Hans. For a while he was silent.
"It's Sunday tomorrow," he said then. "I shall have nothing to do. I'll come and we'll talk. I'll bring something nice."
"We have no needles. Can you bring some?"
"I'll try."
She hoisted the bundle of sticks on her back and trudged down the road. Hans went back to Soissons. He dared not use his motor-cycle, so next day he hired a push-bike. He tied his parcel of food on the carrier. It was a larger parcel than usual because he had put a bottle of champagne into it. He got to the farm when the gathering darkness made it certain that they would all be home from work. It was warm and cosy in the kitchen when he walked in. Madame Perier was cooking and her husband was reading a Paris-Soir. Annette was darning stockings.
"Look, I've brought you some needles," he said, as he undid his parcel. "And here's some material for you, Annette."
"I don't want it."
"Don't you?" he grinned. "You'll have to begin making things for the baby."
"That's true, Annette," said her mother, "and we have nothing." Annette did not look up from her sewing. Madame Perier's greedy eyes ran over the contents of the parcel. "A bottle of champagne."
Hans chuckled.
"I'll tell you what that's for presently. I've had an idea." He hesitated for a moment, then drew up a chair and sat down facing Annette. "I don't know quite how to begin. I'm sorry for what I did that night, Annette. It wasn't my fault, it was the circumstances. Can't you forgive me?"
She threw him a look of hatred.
"Never. Why don't you leave me alone? Isn't it enough that you've ruined my life?"
"Well, that's just it. Perhaps I haven't. When I knew you were going to have a baby it had a funny effect on me. It's all different now. It's made me so proud."
"Proud?" she flung at him viciously.
"I want you to have the baby, Annette. I'm glad you couldn't get rid of it."
"How dare you say that?"
"But listen to me. I've been thinking of nothing else since I knew. The war will be over in six months. We shall bring the English to their knees in the spring. They haven't got a chance. And then I shall be demobilized and I'll marry you."
"You? Why?"
He blushed under his tan. He could not bring himself to say it in French, so he said it in German. He knew she understood it.
"Ich liebe dich."
"What does he say?" asked Madame Perier.
"He says he loves me."
Annette threw back her head and broke into a peal of harsh laughter. She laughed louder and louder and she couldn't stop and tears streamed from her eyes. Madame Perier slapped her sharply on both cheeks.