Never mind, though; you have read the figures as the newspapers give
them: Bazaine has a hundred and fifty thousand men with him, he has
three hundred thousand small arms and more than five hundred pieces of
artillery; take my word for it, he is not going to let himself be caught
in such a scrape as we were. The fellows all say he is a tough man to
deal with; depend on it he's fixing up a nasty dose for the enemy, and
he'll make 'em swallow it."

Henriette nodded her head and appeared to agree with him, in order
to keep him in a cheerful frame of mind. She could not follow those
complicated operations of the armies, but had a presentiment of coming,
inevitable evil. Her voice was fresh and clear; she could have gone on
reading thus for hours; only too glad to have it in her power to relieve
the tedium of his long day, though at times, when she came to some
narrative of slaughter, her eyes would fill with tears that made the
words upon the printed page a blur. She was doubtless thinking of her
husband's fate, how he had been shot down at the foot of the wall and
his body desecrated by the touch of the Bavarian officer's boot.

"If it gives you such pain," Jean said in surprise, "you need not read
the battles; skip them."

But, gentle and self-sacrificing as ever, she recovered herself
immediately.

"No, no; don't mind my weakness; I assure you it is a pleasure to me."

One evening early in October, when the wind was blowing a small
hurricane outside, she came in from the ambulance and entered the room
with an excited air, saying:

"A letter from Maurice! the doctor just gave it me."

With each succeeding morning the twain had been becoming more and more
alarmed that the young man sent them no word, and now that for a whole
week it had been rumored everywhere that the investment of Paris was
complete, they were more disturbed in mind than ever, despairing of
receiving tidings, asking themselves what could have happened him after
he left Rouen. And now the reason of the long silence was made clear to
them: the letter that he had addressed from Paris to Doctor Dalichamp on
the 18th, the very day that ended railway communication with Havre, had
gone astray and had only reached them at last by a miracle, after a long
and circuitous journey.

"Ah, the dear boy!" said Jean, radiant with delight. "Read it to me,
quick!"

The wind was howling and shrieking more dismally than ever, the window
of the apartment strained