ed a fixed determination to be gone,
Henriette seized both his hands and held them tight clasped in hers.

"Ah, no! I beg you, do not go and leave me here alone. You are not
strong enough; wait a few days yet, only a few days. I will let you go,
I promise you I will, whenever the doctor says you are well enough to go
and fight."

V.

The cold was intense on that December evening. Silvine and Prosper,
together with little Charlot, were alone in the great kitchen of the
farmhouse, she busy with her sewing, he whittling away at a whip that he
proposed should be more than usually ornate. It was seven o'clock; they
had dined at six, not waiting for Father Fouchard, who they supposed
had been detained at Raucourt, where there was a scarcity of meat, and
Henriette, whose turn it was to watch that night at the hospital, had
just left the house, after cautioning Silvine to be sure to replenish
Jean's stove with coal before she went to bed.

Outside a sky of inky blackness overhung the white expanse of snow. No
sound came from the village, buried among the drifts; all that was to be
heard in the kitchen was the scraping of Prosper's knife as he fashioned
elaborate rosettes and lozenges on the dogwood stock. Now and then he
stopped and cast a glance at Charlot, whose flaxen head was nodding
drowsily. When the child fell asleep at last the silence seemed more
profound than ever. The mother noiselessly changed the position of the
candle that the light might not strike the eyes of her little one; then
sitting down to her sewing again, she sank into a deep reverie. And
Prosper, after a further period of hesitation, finally mustered up
courage to disburden himself of what he wished to say.

"Listen, Silvine; I have something to tell you. I have been watching for
an opportunity to speak to you in private--"

Alarmed by his preface, she raised her eyes and looked him in the face.

"This is what it is. You'll forgive me for frightening you, but it is
best you should be forewarned. In Remilly this morning, at the corner by
the church, I saw Goliah; I saw him as plain as I see you sitting there.
Oh, no! there can be no mistake; I was not dreaming!"

Her face suddenly became white as death; all she was capable of uttering
was a stifled moan:

"My God! my God!"

Prosper went on, in words calculated to give her least alarm, and
related what he had learned during the day by questioning one person and
another. No one doubted no