rder a retreat. The infuriated
soldiers continued firing upon the mass, and pinning isolated fugitives
to the walls with their bayonets. When they had no more enemies before
them, they riddled the facade of the Mule-Blanche with bullets. The
shutters flew into splinters; one window which had been left half-open
was torn out, and there was a loud rattle of broken glass. Pitiful
voices were crying out from within; "The prisoners! The prisoners!" But
the troops did not hear; they continued firing. All at once Commander
Sicardot, growing exasperated, appeared at the door, waved his arms, and
endeavoured to speak. Monsieur Peirotte, the receiver of taxes, with his
slim figure and scared face, stood by his side. However, another volley
was fired, and Monsieur Peirotte fell face foremost, with a heavy thud,
to the ground.

Silvere and Miette were still looking at each other. Silvere had
remained by the corpse, through all the fusillade and the howls of
agony, without even turning his head. He was only conscious of the
presence of some men around him, and, from a feeling of modesty, he drew
the red banner over Miette's breast. Then their eyes still continued to
gaze at one another.

The conflict, however, was at an end. The death of the receiver of
taxes had satiated the soldiers. Some of these ran about, scouring every
corner of the esplanade, to prevent the escape of a single insurgent.
A gendarme who perceived Silvere under the trees, ran up to him, and
seeing that it was a lad he had to deal with, called: "What are you
doing there, youngster?"

Silvere, whose eyes were still fixed on those of Miette, made no reply.

"Ah! the bandit, his hands are black with powder," the gendarme
exclaimed, as he stooped down. "Come, get up, you scoundrel! You know
what you've got to expect."

Then, as Silvere only smiled vaguely and did not move, the other looked
more attentively, and saw that the corpse swathed in the banner was that
of a girl.

"A fine girl; what a pity!" he muttered. "Your mistress, eh? you
rascal!"

Then he made a violent grab at Silvere, and setting him on his feet led
him away like a dog that is dragged by one leg. Silvere submitted in
silence, as quietly as a child. He just turned round to give another
glance at Miette. He felt distressed at thus leaving her alone under the
trees. For the last time he looked at her from afar. She was still lying
there in all her purity, wrapped in the red banner, her head sl