"Boy? Girl?" the saleswoman asked.

"I don't know," he said ingenuously. "My wife will write and tell me; it happened during my last leave, a month ago."

Everyone around him started laughing. He blushed but seemed very happy. He bought a rattle and a little robe. He came back across the road in triumph.

They were rehearsing the music in the village square. Next to the circle formed by the drums, the trumpets and the fifes, another circle formed round the regimental postmaster. The Frenchmen noted the open mouths and eyes bright with hope, and nodded politely, thinking sadly, We know what it's like… when you're waiting for news from another country. We've all done that… Meanwhile, an enormous young German with huge thighs and a fat bottom that threatened to split his tight riding breeches entered the Hôtel des Voyageurs and, for the third time, asked to look at the barometer. It was still set at fair. The German, beaming with delight, said, "Nothing to worry about. No storm tonight. Gott mit uns."

"Yes, yes." The waitress nodded in agreement.

This innocent delight spread to the customers and the owner himself (who supported the British); everyone stood up and went over to the barometer: "Nothing to worry about! Nothing! Is good… nice party," they said, deliberately speaking in pidgin French so he'd understand them better.

And the German slapped everyone on the back with a wide grin while repeating, "Gott mit uns."

"Sure, sure, Got meedns. He's drunk, that Fritz," they whispered behind his back rather sympathetically. "We know what it's like. He's been celebrating since yesterday… He's a big lad… Well, so what! Why shouldn't they have fun? They're men after all."

Having created a sympathetic atmosphere with his words and appearance, and after downing three bottles of beer one after the other, the German, beaming, finally left. As the day progressed, all the local people began to feel happy and light-headed, as if they too would be going to the ball. In the kitchens, the young girls listlessly rinsed the glasses and every few minutes leaned out of the window to watch the groups of Germans going up to the château.

"Did you see the Second Lieutenant who lives at the church house? Isn't he handsome with his smooth skin. There's the Commandant's new interpreter. How old is he, do you think? I'd say he couldn't be more than twenty, that boy. They're all so young. Oh, there's the Angelliers' Lieutenant. He'd drive me wild, he would. You can tell he's a gentleman. What a beautiful horse! They really do have beautiful horses, by God." The young girls sighed.

Then the bitter voice of some old man dozing by the stove called out, "Sure they do, they're our horses!"

The old man spat into the fire, muttering curses that the young girls didn't hear. They were only interested in one thing: to hurry and finish the dishes so they could go and watch the Germans at the château. Running alongside the grounds was a path lined with acacias, lime trees and beautiful aspens with leaves that incessantly trembled, incessantly rustled in the wind. Between the branches it was possible to see the lake and the lawns where the tables had been set up and, on the hill, the château, its doors and windows wide open, where the regimental orchestra would play. By eight o'clock, everyone in the village was there; the young girls had dragged their parents along; children that the young women hadn't wanted to leave at home were sleeping in their mothers' arms, or running about shouting and playing with the pebbles; some pushed aside the soft branches of the acacia trees and watched the scene with curiosity: the musicians on the terrace, the German officers lying on the grass or slowly strolling through the trees, the tables covered with dazzling linen, the silver reflecting the last rays of the sun and, behind each chair, a soldier standing as still as if he were at inspection-the orderlies who would act as waiters. The orchestra played a particularly lively, cheerful song; the officers took their places. Before sitting down, the head of the table ("the place of honour… a general," whispered the French) and all the other officers stood at attention, raised their glasses and shouted, "Heil Hitler!" It took a long time for the roar to subside; it reverberated through the air with a pure, fierce, metallic echo. Then they could hear the hubbub of conversations, the clinking of cutlery and the sound of the night birds singing.

The Frenchmen strained to see if they could recognise people they knew. Next to the General with the white hair, delicate features and long hooked nose, were the officers from Headquarters.

"That one, over there on the left, look, he's the one who took my car, the bastard! The little blond one with the rosy complexion next to him, he's nice, he talks good French. Where's the Angelliers' German? He's called Bruno… pretty name… It's a shame it'll be dark soon; we won't be able to see anything then… The shoemaker's Fritz told me they were going to light torches. Oh, Mummy, that will be so pretty! Let's stay 'til then. What will the owners of the château be saying about all this? They won't be able to sleep tonight. Who's going to eat the leftovers? Who, Mummy? The Mayor?"

"Oh, be quiet, you silly thing, there won't be any leftovers, they've got hearty appetites."

Little by little, darkness spread across the lawns; they could still make out the gold decorations on the uniforms, the Germans' blond hair, the musicians' brass instruments on the terrace, but they had lost their glow. All the light of the day, fleeing the earth, seemed for one brief moment to take refuge in the sky; pink clouds spiralled round the full moon that was as green as pistachio sorbet and as clear as glass; it was reflected in the lake. Exquisite perfumes filled the air: grass, fresh hay, wild strawberries. The music kept playing. Suddenly, the torches were lit; as the soldiers carried them along, they cast their light over the messy tables, the empty glasses, for the officers were now gathered around the lake, singing and laughing. There was the lively, happy sound of champagne corks popping.

"Oh, those bastards! And to think it's our wine they're drinking," the Frenchmen said, but without real bitterness, because all happiness is contagious and disarms the spirit of hatred.

And of course, the Germans seemed to like the champagne so much (and had paid so much for it!) that the Frenchmen were vaguely flattered by their good taste.

"They're having a good time. Thank goodness it's not all war… Don't worry, they'll be fighting again… They say it will be over this year. Sure it would be bad if they won, but what can you do, it's got to end… Everyone's so miserable in the cities… and we want our prisoners back."

All along the road, the young girls held one another by the waist and danced to the soft lively music. The drums and brass instruments gave the waltzes and tunes from operettas a bright tone that was victorious, happy, heroic and joyous, that made their hearts beat faster; sometimes a low, prolonged, powerful note rose above the lively arpeggios like the echo of a distant storm.

When it was completely dark they started singing. Groups of soldiers sang to one another from the terrace and the park, from the banks of the lake and the lake itself, where boats decorated with flowers drifted past. The Frenchmen listened, delighted, in spite of themselves. It was nearly midnight, but no one would have dreamed of leaving their spot in the tall grass or between the branches.

Only the burning torches and sparklers lit up the trees. Wonderful voices filled the night. Suddenly, there was a long silence. They could see the Germans running like shadows against a background of green flame and moonlight.

"They're going to light the fireworks!" shouted a little boy. "They're definitely having fireworks. I know. The Fritz told me."