em as if it had been broad day; now they
were surprised by the deserted and tranquil condition of the streets,
where the only sound that disturbed the stillness was a dull, distant
roar. In the vicinity of the Bourse, however, they were alarmed by the
sound of musketry; they slipped along with great caution, hugging the
walls. On reaching the Rue Richelieu and finding her shop had not been
disturbed, the stout lady was so overjoyed that she insisted on seeing
her traveling companion safely housed; they struck through the Rue du
Hazard, the Rue Saint-Anne, and finally reached the Rue des Orties.
Some federates, whose battalion was still holding the Rue Saint-Anne,
attempted to prevent them from passing. It was four o'clock and already
quite light when Henriette, exhausted by the fatigue of her long day and
the stress of her emotions, reached the old house in the Rue des Orties
and found the door standing open. Climbing the dark, narrow staircase,
she turned to the left and discovered behind a door a ladder that led
upward toward the roof.

Maurice, meantime, behind the barricade in the Rue du Bac, had succeeded
in raising himself to his knees, and Jean's heart throbbed with a wild,
tumultuous hope, for he believed he had pinned his friend to the earth.

"Oh, my little one, are you alive still? is that great happiness in
store for me, brute that I am? Wait a moment, let me see."

He examined the wound with great tenderness by the light of the burning
buildings. The bayonet had gone through the right arm near the shoulder,
but a more serious part of the business was that it had afterward
entered the body between two of the ribs and probably touched the lung.
Still, the wounded man breathed without much apparent difficulty, but
the right arm hung useless at his side.

"Poor old boy, don't grieve! We shall have time to say good-by to each
other, and it is better thus, you see; I am glad to have done with it
all. You have done enough for me to make up for this, for I should have
died long ago in some ditch, even as I am dying now, had it not been for
you."

But Jean, hearing him speak thus, again gave way to an outburst of
violent grief.

"Hush, hush! Twice you saved me from the clutches of the Prussians. We
were quits; it was my turn to devote my life, and instead of that I
have slain you. Ah, _tonnerre de Dieu!_ I must have been drunk not to
recognize you; yes, drunk as a hog from glutting myself with blood."

Tears