Some weeks later Boudru's mother was busy with odd jobs in the kitchen garden and the children were playing in the front room, there was a ring at the door and the sound of a butt-end of a rifle, as it "grounded" on the cobble stones. When Boudru on tiptoe lifted the latch, the door swung open, and a big man in a greenish uniform stood before him. There was no sign of cap-badge or title on his shoulder straps, and he was horribly dirty. He carried two English ration bags, besides his own rucksack, and they were all filled to bursting with loot. Evil beamed from his narrow, leering eyes; and when he smiled at Boudru it twirled his demon-like mouth into a grotesque shape. He looked both depraved and suspicious, a disreputable scoundrel with a gun, and that, you will find in the fullness of time, was just what he was.
"Let us shut the door," said Elise. "This is not a pretty man." But the man from Stettin pushed past.
Boudru's mother had hurried up to the door as fast as her bulk and her stout legs would permit.
Every day she had expected a visit from the Huns. It was useless to argue with such a man, so she took the German in.
"There is only a little left ... it is over there, on the sideboard."
The soldier walked over, finished half a bottle, and announced that it was like water.
"More," he ordered, "Shoot you if no find."
The woman at last managed to unearth a bottle of good Burgundy and another bottle of brandy.
He drank both the bottles, and when he had finished, he asked for more like every other Boche will do. Then he chose the front bedroom and threw himself down on the bed in a drunken sleep.
When the next morning broke the French woman went to awaken the thief and while the latter was making his toilet little Boudru entered. He regarded the Hun with gravity for at least five minutes and then delivered himself of his opinion.
"I don't like you," he said slowly, regarding the Hun, with his elfish eyes. "I don't like you. I think you may be like the man in the English soldiers' story, who turned into a pig--a baby killer perhaps. It is because of your red hair that I think you may turn ..."
The man from Stettin who had been trying to drag a comb through his horrible beard and hair, turned, and he looked like a big red devil, the sun being on his head, and red beard and all.