r Sieg!
Vorwaerts!
Flieg', Adler, flieg'!
Victoria!
Victoria!
Mit uns ist Gott!"

Terrified, turning her head from side to side, Lorraine stretched
out her hands. She tried to speak, but her ears were filled with
the deep voices shouting the splendid battle-hymn--

"Fly, Eagle! fly!
With us is God!"

She crept out of bed, her bare feet white with cold, her bare
arms flushed and burning. Blinded by the blaze of the rising sun,
she felt her way around the room, calling, "Jack! Jack!" The
window was open; she crept to it. The street was a surging,
scintillating torrent of steel.

"God with us!"

The White Cuirassiers shook their glittering sabres; the
melancholy trumpet's blast swept skyward; the standards flapped.
Suddenly the stony street trembled with the outcrash of drums;
the cuirassiers halted, the steel-mailed squadrons parted right
and left; a carriage drove at a gallop through the opened ranks.
Lorraine leaned from the window; the officer in the carriage
looked up.

As the fallen Emperor's eyes met Lorraine's, she stretched out
both little bare arms and cried: "Vive la France!"--and he was
gone to his captivity, the White Cuirassiers galloping on every
side.

The Sister of Mercy opened the door behind, calling her.

"He is dying," she said. "He is in here. Come quickly!"

Lorraine turned her head. Her eyes were sweet and serene, her
whole pale face transfigured.

"He will live," she said. "I am here."

"It is the pest!" muttered the Sister.

Lorraine glided into the hall and unclosed the door of the silent
room.

He opened his eyes.

"There is no death!" she whispered, her face against his. "There
is neither death nor sorrow nor dying."

The clamour in the street died out; the wind was still; the pest
flag under the window hung motionless.

He sighed; his eyes closed.

She stretched out beside him, her body against his, her bare arms
around his neck.

His heart fluttered; stopped; fluttered; was silent; moved once
again; ceased.

"Jack!"

Again his heart stirred--or was it her own?

When the morning sun broke over the ramparts of Sedan she fell
asleep in his arms, lulled by the pulsations of his heart.

XXXI

THE PROPHECY OF LORRAINE

When the Vicomte and Madame de Morteyn arrived in Sedan from
Brussels the last of the French prisoners had been gone a week;
the foul city was swept clean; the corpse-choked river no long