his forth the fire did
not cease to burn, filling the wide fireplace with a bright blaze, with
tongues of flame that seemed to die away from time to time, only to
burn up more brightly than ever when fresh fuel fed them. The fire
grew larger, the heap of ashes rose higher and higher--a thick bed of
blackened leaves among which ran millions of sparks. But it was a long,
a never-ending task; for when several pages were thrown on at a time,
they would not burn; it was necessary to move them and turn them over
with the tongs; the best way was to stir them up and then wait until
they were in a blaze, before adding more. The women soon grew skilful at
their task, and the work progressed at a rapid rate.

In her haste to get a fresh armful of papers Felicite stumbled against a
chair.

"Oh, madame, take care," said Martine. "Some one might come!"

"Come? who should come? Clotilde? She is too sound asleep, poor girl.
And even if any one should come, once it is finished, I don't care;
I won't hide myself, you may be sure; I shall leave the empty press
standing wide open; I shall say aloud that it is I who have purified
the house. When there is not a line of writing left, ah, good heavens! I
shall laugh at everything else!"

For almost two hours the fireplace blazed. They went back to the press
and emptied the two other shelves, and now there remained only the
bottom, which was heaped with a confusion of papers. Little by little,
intoxicated by the heat of the bonfire, out of breath and perspiring,
they gave themselves up to the savage joy of destruction. They stooped
down, they blackened their hands, pushing in the partially consumed
fragments, with gestures so violent, so feverishly excited, that their
gray locks fell in disorder over their shoulders. It was like a dance of
witches, feeding a hellish fire for some abominable act--the martyrdom
of a saint, the burning of written thought in the public square; a whole
world of truth and hope destroyed. And the blaze of this fire, which
at moments made the flame of the lamp grow pale, lighted up the vast
apartment, and made the gigantic shadows of the two women dance upon the
ceiling.

But as she was emptying the bottom of the press, after having burned,
handful by handful, the papers with which it had been filled, Felicite
uttered a stifled cry of triumph.

"Ah, here they are! To the fire! to the fire!"

She had at last come upon the envelopes. Far back, behind the rampart