183#Nnette gasped. She gained control over herself.

‘I brought the bottle of champagne to celebrate our engagement,’ said Hans.

‘That’s the bitterest thing of all,’ said Annette, ‘that we were beaten by fools, by

such fools.’

Hans went on speaking in German.

‘I didn’t know I loved you till that day when I found out that you were going

to have a baby. It came like a clap of thunder, but I think I’ve loved you all the

time.’

‘What does he say?’ asked Madame Périer.

‘Nothing of importance.’

He fell back into French. He wanted Annette’s parents to hear what he had to

say.

‘I’d marry you now, only they wouldn’t let me. And don’t think I’m nothing at

all. My father’s well–to–do and we’re well thought of in our commune. I’m the

eldest son and you’d want for nothing.’

‘Are you a Catholic?’ asked Madame Périer.

‘Yes, I’m a Catholic’

‘That’ s something.’

‘It’s pretty, the country where we live and the soil’s good. There’s not better

farming land between Munich and Innsbruck, and it’s our own. My

grandfather bought it after the war of ’70. And we’ve got a car and a radio,

and we’re on the telephone.’

Annette turned to her father.

‘He has all the tact in the world, this gentleman,’ she cried ironically. She eyed

Hans. ‘It would be a nice position for me, the foreigner from the conquered

country with a child born out of wedlock. It offers me a chance of happiness,

doesn’t it? A fine chance.’

Périer, a man of few words, spoke for the first time.

‘No. I don’t deny that it’s a fine gesture you’re making. I went through the last

war and we all did things we wouldn’t have done in peace time. Human nature

is human nature. But now that our son is dead, Annette is all we have. We can’t

let her go.’

‘I thought you might feel that way,’ said Hans, ‘and I’ve got my answer to that.

I’ll stay here.’

Annette gave him a quick look.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Madame Périer.

‘I’ve got another brother. He can stay and help my father. I like this country.

With energy and initiative a man could make a good thing of your farm. When

the war’s over a lot of Germans will be settling here. It’s well known that you

haven’t got enough men in France to work the land you’ve got. A fellow gave us

a lecture the other day at Soissons. He said that a third of the farms were left

uncultivated because there aren’t the men to work them.’

Périer and his wife exchanged glances and Annette saw that they were

wavering. That was what they’d wanted since their son had died, a son–in–law

who was strong and hefty and could take over when they grew too old to do

more than potter about.

‘That changes the case,’ said Madame Périer. ‘It’s a proposition to consider.’

‘Hold your tongue,’ cried Annette roughly. She leant forward and fixed her

burning eyes on the German. ‘I’m engaged to a teacher who worked in the

boys’ school in the town where I taught, we were to be married after the war.

He’s not strong and big like you, or handsome; he’s small and frail. His only