God Speed the Night Read Online Free PDF

handwritten, was brought to him. “ Wo bist du?” His own staff had neglected to tell him of the meeting. He skittered along the polished corridor to Von Weber’s office, once the chambers of the justice of the peace. In the old days these floors had been safe to walk on. In the old days, too, the corridor had been lined with busts of the heroes of 1918—Foch, Clémenceau…Now the only occupant of his marble pedestal was Marshal Petain.
    Von Weber suspended his remarks until Moissac had found a chair to suit his bulk. He started to sit on the one nearest the door, decided that it was too fragile, and moved across the room on tiptoe to a sturdier one.
    “A bumble bee should not covet a violet,” Von Weber said in perfectly accented French.
    Everyone laughed which rarely happened when a German made a joke in St. Hilaire.
    Von Weber proceeded with his usual lecture on the ingratitude of the people in his district, on the benevolence of his command. It was not the day for it what with the labor conscriptees and word having reached the Frenchmen of the peasant woman’s death. They sat in an unresponsive silence that even Von Weber could not overlook. He stopped abruptly. Then, “What is it, gentlemen?”
    “There was a woman shot in her field this morning, Colonel,” the mayor said.
    “She attacked the officer. There were witnesses, two members of the religious community, I understand. Nonetheless, the man is under arrest at this moment. He will be tried before court martial.”
    He waited. No one said a word. “What more do you want?” he demanded.
    Still no one spoke.
    Moissac felt something should be said. Also, he saw an opportunity to justify himself with the prefect of agriculture. “You will not call on the nuns to testify, Colonel? It would not be fitting.”
    “If it should become necessary, Monsieur Moissac, I shall ask you to take their testimony. Perhaps that would be fitting. Shall I proceed with the purpose of this meeting?”
    “Please,” Moissac said miserably.
    Von Weber detailed his latest policy directive. There was to be every co-operation with the harvest. Since there were itinerant workers, he would see that their travel was facilitated, provided the prefect of police cleared them in St. Hilaire. He had already arranged the necessary fuel for the transport and operation of the syndicate’s machinery. “I find it interesting—why a syndicate and not a co-operative, Monsieur Dorget?”
    The prefect of agriculture was slow to answer. “It is an ancient association, Colonel.”
    “Of very rich men.”
    “For the most part they have been.”
    “It is not our purpose to impoverish them. I had hoped you gentlemen would take that message from me today. Let us have peace during the harvest. Allow us that much cooperation with one another. Do you agree to that?”
    The mayor stirred uneasily. “The woman’s death,” he said again, “it was a bad omen.”
    “I do not suppose she was a member of the syndicate,” Von Weber said bitingly. “But I personally offer you, the mayor of St. Hilaire, my deepest regrets.”
    “What will happen if there is a reprisal?”
    “That would be a great pity, but no hostage will be taken. I give you my word on it.”
    “Then,” the mayor said, leaning forward to see the faces of his colleagues, “we must do our best to see that there is no reprisal.”
    The others murmured assent.
    “I would have hoped for more enthusiasm from you gentlemen. I cannot understand why a country under peaceful occupation arranged by solemn treaty condones so much violence. You may go, messieurs.”
    He did not rise. Nor did he look up again from the desk until he heard the click of the guards’ heels as they came to attention before opening the doors to the departing Frenchmen. Then he called out, “Moissac, a moment, please.”
    Moissac shuffled back and waited. Von Weber continued the study of the papers on his desk. He instructed the sergeant who would prepare the