so cold that she couldn't stay there she sat by the side of the kitchen stove, sewing or reading, and took no more notice of him than if he hadn't been there. She was in radiant health. There was colour in her cheeks and in Hans's eyes she was beautiful. Her approaching maternity had given her a strange dignity and he was filled with exultation when he gazed upon her. Then one day when he was on his way to the farm he saw Madame Perier in the road waving to him to stop. He put his brakes on hard.
"I've been waiting for an hour. I thought you'd never come. You must go back. Pierre is dead."
"Who's Pierre?"
"Pierre Gavin. The teacher Annette was going to marry." Hans's heart leapt. What luck! Now he'd have his chance. "Is she upset?"
"She's not crying. When I tried to say something she bit my head off. If she saw you today she's capable of sticking a knife into you."
"It's not my fault if he died. How did you hear?"
"A prisoner, a friend of his, escaped through Switzerland and he wrote to Annette. We got the letter this morning. There was a mutiny in the camp because they weren't given enough to eat, and the ringleaders were shot. Pierre was one of them."
Hans was silent. He could only think it served the man right. What did they think that a prison camp was - the Ritz?
"Give her time to get over the shock," said Madame Perier. "When she's calmer I'll talk to her. I'll write you a letter when you can come again."
"All right. You will help me, won't you?"
"You can be sure of that. My husband and I, we're agreed. We talked it over and we came to the conclusion that the only thing to do was to accept the situation. He's no fool, my husband, and he says the best chance for France now is to collaborate. And take it all in all I don't dislike you. I shouldn't wonder if you didn't make Annette a better husband than that teacher. And with the baby coming and all."
"I want it to be a boy," said Hans.
"It's going to be a boy. I know for certain. I've seen it in the coffee grounds and I've put out the cards. The answer is a boy every time."
"I almost forgot, here are some papers for you," said Hans, as he turned his cycle and prepared to mount.
He handed her three numbers of Paris-Soir. Old Perier read every evening. He read that the French must be realistic and accept the new order that Hitler was going to create in Europe. He read that the German submarines were sweeping the sea. He read that the General Staff had organized to the last detail the campaign that would bring England to her knees and that the Americans were too unprepared, too soft and too divided to come to her help. He read that France must take the heavensent opportunity and by loyal collaboration with the Reich regain her honoured position in the new Europe. And it wasn't Germans who wrote it all; it was Frenchmen. He nodded his head with approval when he read that the plutocrats and the Jews would be destroyed and the poor man in France would at last come into his own. They were quite right, the clever fellows who said that France was essentially an agricultural country and its backbone was its industrious farmers. Good sense, that was.
One evening, when they were finishing their supper, ten days after the news had come of Pierre Gavin's death, Madame Perier by arrangement with her husband, said to Annette:
"I wrote a letter to Hans a few days ago telling him to come here tomorrow."
"Thank you for the warning. I shall stay in my room."
"Oh, come, daughter, the time has passed for foolishness. You must be realistic. Pierre is dead. Hans loves you and wants to marry you. He's a fine-looking fellow. Any girl would be proud of him as a husband. How can we restock the farm without his help? He's going to buy a tractor and a plough with his own money. You must let bygones be bygones."
"You're wasting your breath, Mother. I earned my living before, I can earn my living again. I hate him. I hate his vanity and his arrogance. I could kill him: his death wouldn't satisfy me. I should like to torture him as he's tortured me. I think I should