read it in one of the newspapers, I
don't remember which. Is that army in this neighborhood?"

Weiss repeated his gesture, which was imitated by the two soldiers, who
could not be supposed to know what enemies were in front of them when
their generals did not know. Rising to his feet, the master of the house
at last made use of articulate speech.

"Come along; I will go with you. I learned this afternoon where the
106th's camp is situated." He told his wife that she need not expect to
see him again that night, as he would sleep at Bazeilles, where they
had recently bought and furnished a little place to serve them as a
residence during the hot months. It was near a dyehouse that belonged
to M. Delaherche. The accountant's mind was ill at ease in relation to
certain stores that he had placed in the cellar--a cask of wine and a
couple of sacks of potatoes; the house would certainly be visited by
marauders if it was left unprotected, he said, while by occupying it
that night he would doubtless save it from pillage. His wife watched him
closely while he was speaking.

"You need not be alarmed," he added, with a smile; "I harbor no darker
design than the protection of our property, and I pledge my word that if
the village is attacked, or if there is any appearance of danger, I will
come home at once."

"Well, then, go," she said. "But remember, if you are not back in good
season you will see me out there looking for you."

Henriette went with them to the door, where she embraced Maurice
tenderly and gave Jean a warm clasp of the hand.

"I intrust my brother to your care once more. He has told me of your
kindness to him, and I love you for it."

He was too flustered to do more than return the pressure of the small,
firm hand. His first impression returned to him again, and he beheld
Henriette in the light in which she had first appeared to him, with
her bright hair of the hue of ripe golden grain, so alert, so sunny, so
unselfish, that her presence seemed to pervade the air like a caress.

Once they were outside they found the same gloomy and forbidding Sedan
that had greeted their eyes that morning. Twilight with its shadows had
invaded the narrow streets, sidewalk and carriage-way alike were filled
with a confused, surging throng. Most of the shops were closed, the
houses seemed to be dead or sleeping, while out of doors the crowd was
so dense that men trod on one another. With some little difficulty,
however, the