Marie opened her eyes groggily, and when she saw he sigh she was faced with, seized the ground around her, and backed against the tree. The harsh, cacophonous sounds of the words led her to believe that they were speaking German. However their uniforms she had never seen before – and they certainly weren't those of the Wehrmacht or SS.
However, Marie still felt a knot of fear in her stomach – it was not unheard of for French girls to be mistreated by allied soldiers.
One of the men took a step towards her, and asked kindly, "What's your name?"
Marie had learned a small amount of English in school, however this accent was inscrutable to her.
"Pardon?" She asked timidly.
Another man pushed past him and said loudly, "Do – you – speak – English?"
"Yes, a little." Marie answered. She drew her knees in towards her chest, and made an effort to stand up.
The first man asked her again, "What's your name?"
This time Marie understood him and said quietly, "Marie Rousseau."
"And what are you doin' out here?"
Marie started – there was certainly a hint of accusation in his question. She didn't care for the way he was looking at her either – guardedly, suspiciously.
"I…" Marie raked her mind for the correct verb. She disliked English immensely. It was too irregular – in contrast to the regular safety of the declensions and conjugations in a language like Latin. "I live over there." She said, pointing in the direction of their house, "I was going for a walk …ce matin…this morning."
The man stood beside her, and pointed, "You mean that big house over there?"
"Yes."
The man's expression darkened, "There were Nazis stayin' in that house."
Marie gasped. She could feel her lower lip trembling.
"I-I…" She wanted to answer him, to tell him exactly what she thought of Nazis. Her English, however, was failing her. The man make took a step towards her, and she began to shake once more. He was an imposing figure, looming over he just like Landa had done.
"How old are you?" He asked gruffly.
"Fourteen." Marie answered, looking at her feet.
His companion laughed, and said to him, "Come on Aldo, she's not exactly Nazi material!"
"Well, ya know, you can never be too careful."
"I heard Landa was passin' through here as well-" another man interjected.
Marie's head shot up at the mention of the name. This didn't go unnoticed.
"Well missy, you know him?"
Marie's jaw was shaking, and she balled her hands into fists, "I 'ate Landa! I 'ate eem!"
Aldo closed his mouth and turned away, saying quietly, "I see."
"What do you mean?" asked his comrade.
"Well, Omar, my guess is that kraut son of a bitch took more than the hospitality, if you get my meaning."
His friend looked slightly confused by the euphemism, but understood when Aldo motioned with his head towards Marie, who had started to cry, though she was hiding her face in her arm and frantically wiping away the tears.
Aldo turned back to Marie, "Alright little missy, you go on home, an' don't be taking no more walks alone in forests."
Marie frowned – she was struggling to understand what he was saying, so instead she asked, "Are you going to kill Landa?"
Aldo smiled, and placed his hand on her head, "Don't you worry now kid, we'll sort out that Nazi fucker, now you go on home."
Marie smiled nervously, and backed away slowly, feeling in some way excited, although another large part of her was desperately afraid.
Marie reached the gate of the house and sighed. She felt disappointment – like she'd let an opportunity slip away from her.