e in again."

To Henriette, on the landing, he said he would not venture to make any
promises. The injury to the lung was serious; hemorrhage might set
in and carry off the patient without a moment's warning. And when she
re-entered the room she forced a smile to her lips, notwithstanding the
sharp stab with which the doctor's words had pierced her heart, for had
she not promised herself to save him? and could she permit him to
be snatched from them now that they three were again united, with a
prospect of a lifetime of affection and happiness before them? She had
not left the room since morning, an old woman who lived on the landing
having kindly offered to act as her messenger for the purchase of such
things as she required. And she returned and resumed her place upon a
chair at her brother's bedside.

But Maurice, in his febrile excitation, questioned Jean, insisting on
knowing what had happened since the morning. The latter did not tell him
everything, maintaining a discreet silence upon the furious rage which
Paris, now it was delivered from its tyrants, was manifesting toward
the dying Commune. It was now Wednesday. For two interminable days
succeeding the Sunday evening when the conflict first broke out the
citizens had lived in their cellars, quaking with fear, and when they
ventured out at last on Wednesday morning, the spectacle of bloodshed
and devastation that met their eyes on every side, and more particularly
the frightful ruin entailed by the conflagrations, aroused in their
breasts feelings the bitterest and most vindictive. It was felt in every
quarter that the punishment must be worthy of the crime. The houses in
the suspected quarters were subjected to a rigorous search and men and
women who were at all tainted with suspicion were led away in droves and
shot without formality. At six o'clock of the evening of that day the
army of the Versaillese was master of the half of Paris, following the
line of the principal avenues from the park of Montsouris to the station
of the Northern Railway, and the remainder of the braver members of
the Commune, a mere handful, some twenty or so, had taken refuge in the
_mairie_ of the eleventh arrondissement, in the Boulevard Voltaire.

They were silent when he concluded his narration, and Maurice, his
glance vaguely wandering over the city through the open window that let
in the soft, warm air of evening, murmured:

"Well, the work goes on; Paris continues to burn!"