There was a knock at the door, and when the commandant said:  “Come in,” one of their automatic soldiers appeared, and by his mere presence announced that breakfast was ready.  In the dining-room, they met three other officers of lower rank:  a lieutenant, Otto von Grossling, and two sub-lieutenants, Fritz Scheunebarg, and Baron von Eyrick, a very short, fair-haired man, who was proud and brutal towards men, harsh towards prisoners, and as violent as a rifle.

Since he had been in France, his comrades had called him nothing but Mademoiselle Fifi.  They had given him that nickname on account of his dandified style and small waist, which looked as if he wore stays, of his pale face, on which his budding moustache scarcely showed, and on account of the habit he had acquired of employing the French expression, fi, fi donc, which he pronounced with a slight whistle, when he wished to express his sovereign contempt for persons or things.

The dining-room of the chateau was a magnificent long room, whose fine old mirrors, that were cracked by pistol bullets, and whose Flemish tapestry, which was cut to ribbons, and hanging in rags in places, from sword-cuts, told too well what Mademoiselle Fifi’s occupation was during his spare time.

There were three family portraits on the walls:  a steel-clad knight, a cardinal, and a judge, who were all smoking long porcelain pipes, which had been inserted into holes in the canvas, while a lady in a long, pointed waist proudly exhibited an enormous moustache, drawn with a piece of charcoal.  The officers ate their breakfast almost in silence in that mutilated room, which looked dull in the rain, and melancholy under its vanquished appearance, although its old, oak floor had become as solid as the stone floor of a public house.

When they had finished eating, and were smoking and drinking they began, as usual, to talk about the dull life they were leading.  The bottles of brandy and of liquors passed from hand to hand, and all sat back in their chairs and took repeated sips from their glasses, scarcely removing the long, bent stems, which terminated in china bowls, that were painted in a manner to delight a Hottentot, from their mouths.

As soon as their glasses were empty, they filled them again, with a gesture of resigned weariness, but Mademoiselle Fifi emptied his every minute, and a soldier immediately gave him another.  They were enveloped in a thick cloud of strong tobacco smoke, and they seemed to be sunk in a state of drowsy, stupid intoxication, in that dull state of drunkenness of men who have nothing to do, when suddenly, the baron sat up, and said:  “By heavens!  This cannot go on; we must think of something to do.”  And on hearing this, lieutenant Otto and sub-lieutenant Fritz, who pre-eminently possessed the grave, heavy German countenance, said:  “What, captain?”