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 She was very frightened with some unknown fear, and held tight to the bannister, as she went upstairs. There was a glimmer of light on the landing. It was from a candle which had almost burnt out, and was guttering in a candlestick placed on the topmost stair. A grotesque figure was revealed by the light—Schwarz, the German officer, in his pyjamas, with a helmet on his head and unlaced boots on his feet. The loose fat of the man no longer girded by a belt made him look like a mass of jelly, as he had his shoulder to the door, shoving and grunting as he tried to force it open. He was swearing to himself in German, and now and then called out softly in French, in a kind of drunken German-French:

"Ouvrez, kleines Mädchen, ma jolie Schatz. Ouvrez donc."

Madame Chéri was paralysed for a moment by a shock of horror; quite speechless and motionless. Then suddenly she moved forward and spoke in a fierce whisper.

"What are you doing, beast?"

Schwarz gave a queer snort of alarm.

He stood swaying a little, with the helmet on the back of his head. The candlelight gleamed on its golden eagle. His face was hotly flushed, and there was a ferocious look in his eyes. Madame Chéri saw that he was drunk.

He spoke to her in horrible French, so Pierre Nesle told me, imitating it savagely, as Madame Chéri had done to him. The man was filthily drunk and declared that he loved Hélène and would kill her if she did not let him love her. Why did she lock her door like that? He had been kind to her. He had smiled at her. A German officer was a human being, not a monster. Why did they treat him as a monster, draw themselves away when he passed, become silent when he wished to speak with