feet
followed; and Plon fled precipitously to his den, double-bolted his
door, and rolled his mattress round him for protection. Marie Didier
slowly turned her head, and, as if recognising the wisdom of his advice,
felt her way along the wall and groped up the dark staircase. No one had
lit the small oil lamp on the _premier_, but light from burning houses
flashed in at windows; a child had been killed by the fragment of a
shell, and the mother was loudly wailing; some were peering out of
their doorways; they stared at Marie, who crept up like a ghost. In this
rookery the young couple had kept themselves apart, and had no friends.
But it was instinctively known that something had happened to Jean, and
only one woman was bold enough to question the wife. She answered
steadily in a strange strained voice:

"They are searching the houses. We shall have them soon."

It was, however, an hour before a party of soldiers made a rough
visitation. They dragged Plon out of his mattress, and made him climb
the stairs, panting and protesting. When they reached the top garret,
Marie was sitting in the darkness, with her arms on the poor table; she
did not move as they entered.

"Bring in the lantern!" shouted the sergeant. "Now, good woman, who have
you got hiding here?"

She turned a white face upon him, speechless. Plon, who was recovering
his pomposity, pressed forward, and laid a hand on the soldier's arm.

"Don't worry her, sergeant," he said, "her husband has just been shot."

"Serve him right," said the man brutally. "Are there more of the brood
about?"

"Not a soul. They lived here alone, these two."

"Well, we'll see."

"No cupboards here," said a soldier, whose face was bleeding from a
bayonet scratch.

"There's a trap door, though," said the sergeant, holding the lantern
up to the ceiling. He glanced sharply at Marie, but she remained
immovable. "Humph," he grumbled, "if he is shot he is out of the way.
Now, friend Porpoise, the other rooms if you please."

They searched these thoroughly with no better success. But when they had
satisfied themselves and were out again, the sergeant, whose suspicions
seemed to have been aroused, flung open the door of the Didiers' garret,
and turned the lantern full upon Marie once more. She had not moved hand
or foot.

"What is that blood?" said the sergeant, pointing to a trail of red
drops on the floor.

For answer she silently rolled back her sleeve, and unbandaging he