, from the Faubourg Saint-Honore to the Bastille, then the
Seine in its entire course through the city, with the thickly-built,
densely-populated regions of the left bank, an ocean of roofs, treetops,
steeples, domes, and towers. The light was growing stronger, the
abominable night, than which there have been few more terrible in
history, was ended; but beneath the rosy sky, in the pure, clear light
of the rising sun, the fires were blazing still. Before them lay the
burning Tuileries, the d'Orsay barracks, the Palaces of the Council of
State and the Legion of Honor, the flames from which were paled by the
superior refulgence of the day-star. Even beyond the houses in the
Rue de Lille and the Rue du Bac there must have been other structures
burning, for clouds of smoke were visible rising from the carrefour of
la Croix-Rouge, and, more distant still, from the Rue Vavin and the Rue
Notre-Dame-des-Champs. Nearer at hand and to their right the fires
in the Rue Saint-Honore were dying out, while to the left, at the
Palais-Royal and the new Louvre, to which the torch had not been applied
until near morning, the work of the incendiaries was apparently a
failure. But what they were unable to account for at first was the dense
volume of black smoke which, impelled by the west wind, came driving
past their window. Fire had been set to the Ministry of Finance at three
o'clock in the morning and ever since that time it had been smoldering,
emitting no blaze, among the stacks and piles of documents that were
contained in the low-ceiled, fire-proof vaults and chambers. And if
the terrific impressions of the night were not there to preside at the
awakening of the great city--the fear of total destruction, the Seine
pouring its fiery waves past their doors, Paris kindling into flame
from end to end--a feeling of gloom and despair, hung heavy over the
quartiers that had been spared, with that dense, on-pouring smoke,
whose dusky cloud was ever spreading. Presently the sun, which had risen
bright and clear, was hid by it, and the golden sky was filled with the
great funeral pall.

Maurice, who appeared to be delirious again, made a slow, sweeping
gesture that embraced the entire horizon, murmuring:

"Is it all burning? Ah, how long it takes!"

Tears rose to Henriette's eyes, as if her burden of misery was made
heavier for her by the share her brother had had in those deeds of
horror. And Jean, who dared neither take her hand nor embra