by the west wind, came driving past their window.  Fire had been set to the Ministry of Finance at three o’clock in the morning and ever since that time it had been smoldering, emitting no blaze, among the stacks and piles of documents that were contained in the low-ceiled, fire-proof vaults and chambers.  And if the terrific impressions of the night were not there to preside at the awakening of the great city —­the fear of total destruction, the Seine pouring its fiery waves past their doors, Paris kindling into flame from end to end—­a feeling of gloom and despair, hung heavy over the quartiers that had been spared, with that dense, on-pouring smoke, whose dusky cloud was ever spreading.  Presently the sun, which had risen bright and clear, was hid by it, and the golden sky was filled with the great funeral pall.

Maurice, who appeared to be delirious again, made a slow, sweeping gesture that embraced the entire horizon, murmuring: 

“Is it all burning?  Ah, how long it takes!”

Tears rose to Henriette’s eyes, as if her burden of misery was made heavier for her by the share her brother had had in those deeds of horror.  And Jean, who dared neither take her hand nor embrace his friend, left the room with the air of one crazed by grief.

“I will return soon. Au revoir!”

It was dark, however, nearly eight o’clock, before he was able to redeem his promise.  Notwithstanding his great distress he was happy; his regiment had been transferred from the first to the second line and assigned the task of protecting the quartier, so that, bivouacking with his company in the Place du Carrousel, he hoped to get a chance to run in each evening to see how the wounded man was getting on.  And he did not return alone; as luck would have it he had fallen in with the former surgeon of the 106th and had brought him along with him, having been unable to find another doctor, consoling himself with the reflection that the terrible, big man with the lion’s mane was not such a bad sort of fellow after all.

When Bouroche, who knew nothing of the patient he was summoned with such insistence to attend and grumbled at having to climb so many stairs, learned that it was a Communist he had on his hands he commenced to storm.

“God’s thunder, what do you take me for?  Do you suppose I’m going to waste my time on those thieving, murdering, house-burning scoundrels?  As for this particular bandit, his case is clear, and I’ll take it upon me to see he is cured; yes, with a bullet in his head!”

But his anger subsided suddenly at sight of Henriette’s pale face and her golden hair streaming in disorder over her black dress.

“He is my brother, doctor, and he was with you at Sedan.”

He made no reply, but uncovered the injuries and examined them in silence; then, taking some phials from his pocket, he made a fresh dressing, explaining to the young woman how it was done.  When he had finished he turned suddenly to the patient and asked in his loud, rough voice: