resolution, who have
courage, who can lead the people, _I was afraid!_ I sat down again and
wept like a child. Perhaps it was my little Marie that was in the boat.
God, He knows if I loved thee, my little angel! but I was afraid. O how
mean is man! though we are so proud. They came near to me who were my
own, and it was borne in upon my spirit that my good father was with
the child; but because they had died I was afraid. I covered my face
with my hands. Then it seemed to me that I heard a long quiver of a
sigh; a long, long breath, such as sometimes relieves a sorrow that is
beyond words. Trembling, I uncovered my eyes. There was nothing on the
edge of the moonlight; all was dark, and all was still, the white
radiance making a clear line across the river, but nothing more.

If my Agnes had been with me she would have seen our child, she would
have heard that voice! The great cold drops of moisture were on my
forehead. My limbs trembled, my heart fluttered in my bosom. I could
neither listen nor yet speak. And those who would have spoken to me,
those who loved me, sighing, went away. It is not possible that such
wretchedness should be credible to noble minds; and if it had not been
for pride and for shame, I should have fled away straight to La
Clairiere, to Put myself under shelter, to have some one near me who
was less a coward than I. I, upon whom all the others relied, the Maire
of the Commune! I make my confession. I was of no more force than this.

A voice behind me made me spring to my feet--the leap of a mouse would
have driven me wild. I was altogether demoralised. 'Monsieur le Maire,
it is but I,' said some one quite humble and frightened.

'_Tiens!_--it is thou, Jacques!' I said. I could have embraced him,
though it is well known how little I approve of him. But he was living,
he was a man like myself. I put out my hand, and felt him warm and
breathing, and I shall never forget the ease that came to my heart. Its
beating calmed. I was restored to myself.

'M. le Maire,' he said, 'I wish to ask you something. Is it true all
that is said about these people, I would say, these Messieurs? I do not
wish to speak with disrespect, M. le Maire.'

'What is it, Jacques, that is said?' I had called him 'thou' not out of
contempt, but because, for the moment, he seemed to me as a brother, as
one of my friends.

'M. le Maire, is it indeed _les morts_ that are in Semur?'

He trembled, and so did I. 'Jacques,' I said