"I cannot abide small children." The tall man who had first appeared in the doorway shepherded Lucille away from the gun cupboard. He looked to be around 40 years old, and everything about him declared that he was a soldier from the wars. The pigtails had been the badge of Napoleon's dragoons, and they framed a face that had been scarred by blades and powder burns. His coat was an army coat with the bright buttons replaced by horn, while his cap was a forage hat which still had Napoleon's badge. He pushed Lucille into a chair, then turned to the small man. "We'll start the search now, Maitre?" «Indeed,» the small man said. "Who are you?" Lucille asked again, this time more fiercely. The small man took off his coat, revealing a shabby black suit. "Make sure she stays at the table, " he said to one of the men, "the rest of you, search! Sergeant, you start upstairs." "Search for what?" Lucille demanded as the intruders spread out through the house.

THE SMALL man turned back to her. "You possess a cart, Madame?" "A cart?"

Lucille asked, confused. "We shall find it, anyway, " the man said. He crossed to the window, rubbed mist off a pane and peered out. "When will your Englishman return?" "In his own time, " Lucile said defiantly. There was a shout from the old hall where one of the strangers had discovered the remnants of the Lassan silver. There had been a time when a lord of this chateau could seat 40 diners in front of silverware, but now there was just a thick ewer, some candlesticks and a dozen dented plates. The silver was brought into the kitchen, where the small man ordered that it be piled beside the door. "We are not rich! " Lucille protested. She was trying to hide her terror, for she feared that the farm had been invaded by one of the desperate bands of old soldiers who roamed and terrorised rural France. The newspapers had been full of their crimes, yet Lucille had somehow believed that the troubles would never reach Normandy. "That is all we have! " she said, pointing to the silver.