the great square like muffled thunder. One did not seem to
know what strange faces might rise at the open windows, what terrors
might appear. But all he said was, 'We are ambassadors in vain.'

What was it that followed? My teeth chattered. I could not hear. It was
as if 'in vain!--in vain!' came back in echoes, more and more distant
from every opening. They breathed all around us, then were still, then
returned louder from beyond the river. M. le Cure, though he is a
spiritual person, was no more courageous than I. With one impulse, we
put out our hands and grasped each other. We retreated back to back,
like men hemmed in by foes, and I felt his heart beating wildly, and he
mine. Then silence, silence settled all around.

It was now my turn to speak. I would not be behind, come what might,
though my lips were parched with mental trouble.

I said, 'Are we indeed too late? Lecamus must have deceived himself.'

To this there came no echo and no reply, which would be a relief, you
may suppose; but it was not so. It was well-nigh more appalling, more
terrible than the sound; for though we spoke thus, we did not believe
the place was empty. Those whom we approached seemed to be wrapping
themselves in silence, invisible, waiting to speak with some awful
purpose when their time came.

There we stood for some minutes, like two children, holding each other's
hands, leaning against each other at the corner of the square--as
helpless as children, waiting for what should come next. I say it
frankly, my brain and my heart were one throb. They plunged and beat so
wildly that I could scarcely have heard any other sound. In this respect
I think he was more calm. There was on his face that look of intense
listening which strains the very soul. But neither he nor I heard
anything, not so much as a whisper. At last, 'Let us go on,' I said. We
stumbled as we went, with agitation and fear. We were afraid to turn our
backs to those empty houses, which seemed to gaze at us with all their
empty windows pale and glaring. Mechanically, scarce knowing what I was
doing, I made towards my own house.

There was no one there. The rooms were all open and empty. I went from
one to another, with a sense of expectation which made my heart faint;
but no one was there, nor anything changed. Yet I do wrong to say that
nothing was changed. In my library, where I keep my books, where my
father and grandfather conducted their affairs, like me, one little