“But why can’t you take him with you?” he urged.  “I will find quarters for you in Sedan.  Wrap him up warmly in a blanket, and come along with us.”

“Oh, no, sir, I cannot.  The doctor told me it would kill him.  If only his poor father were alive! but we two are all that are left, and we must live for each other.  And then, perhaps the Prussians will be merciful; perhaps they won’t harm a lone woman and a sick boy.”

Just then Weiss reappeared, having secured his premises to his satisfaction.  “There, I think it will trouble them some to get in now.  Come on!  And it is not going to be a very pleasant journey, either; keep close to the houses, unless you want to come to grief.”

There were indications, indeed, that the enemy were making ready for another assault.  The infantry fire was spluttering away more furiously than ever, and the screaming of the shells was incessant.  Two had already fallen in the street a hundred yards away, and a third had imbedded itself, without bursting, in the soft ground of the adjacent garden.

“Ah, here is Francoise,” continued the accountant.  “I must have a look at your little Charles.  Come, come, you have no cause for alarm; he will be all right in a couple of days.  Keep your courage up, and the first thing you do go inside, and don’t put your nose outside the door.”  And the two men at last started to go.

“Au revoir, Francoise.”

“Au revoir, sirs.”

And as they spoke, there came an appalling crash.  It was a shell, which, having first wrecked the chimney of Weiss’s house, fell upon the sidewalk, where it exploded with such terrific force as to break every window in the vicinity.  At first it was impossible to distinguish anything in the dense cloud of dust and smoke that rose in the air, but presently this drifted away, disclosing the ruined facade of the dyehouse, and there, stretched across the threshold, Francoise, a corpse, horribly torn and mangled, her skull crushed in, a fearful spectacle.

Weiss sprang to her side.  Language failed him; he could only express his feelings by oaths and imprecations.

“Nom de Dieu! Nom de Dieu!”

Yes, she was dead.  He had stooped to feel her pulse, and as he arose he saw before him the scarlet face of little Charles, who had raised himself in bed to look at his mother.  He spoke no word, he uttered no cry; he gazed with blazing, tearless eyes, distended as if they would start from their sockets, upon the shapeless mass that was strange, unknown to him; and nothing more.

Weiss found words at last:  “Nom de Dieu! they have taken to killing women!”

He had risen to his feet; he shook his fist at the Bavarians, whose braid-trimmed helmets were commencing to appear again in the direction of the church.  The chimney, in falling, had crushed a great hole in the roof of his house, and the sight of the havoc made him furious.