hateful thing it is!" said Henriette to herself,
looking out on the sore-smitten city.

Was it not indeed the last act, the inevitable conclusion of the
tragedy, the blood-madness for which the lost fields of Sedan and Metz
were responsible, the epidemic of destruction born from the siege of
Paris, the supreme struggle of a nation in peril of dissolution, in the
midst of slaughter and universal ruin?

But Maurice, without taking his eyes from the fires that were raging in
the distance, feebly, and with an effort, murmured:

"No, no; do not be unjust toward war. It is good; it has its appointed
work to do--"

There were mingled hatred and remorse in the cry with which Jean
interrupted him.

"Good God! When I see you lying there, and know it is through my
fault--Do not say a word in defense of it; it is an accursed thing, is
war!"

The wounded man smiled faintly.

"Oh, as for me, what matters it? There is many another in my condition.
It may be that this blood-letting was necessary for us. War is life,
which cannot exist without its sister, death."

And Maurice closed his eyes, exhausted by the effort it had cost him
to utter those few words. Henriette signaled Jean not to continue the
discussion. It angered her; all her being rose in protest against such
suffering and waste of human life, notwithstanding the calm bravery of
her frail woman's nature, with her clear, limpid eyes, in which lived
again all the heroic spirit of the grandfather, the veteran of the
Napoleonic wars.

Two days more, Thursday and Friday, passed, like their predecessors,
amid scenes of slaughter and conflagration. The thunder of the artillery
was incessant; the batteries of the army of Versailles on the heights
of Montmartre roared against those that the federates had established
at Belleville and Pare-Lachaise without a moment's respite, while the
latter maintained a desultory fire on Paris. Shells had fallen in the
Rue Richelieu and the Place Vendome. At evening on the 25th the entire
left bank was in possession of the regular troops, but on the right bank
the barricades in the Place Chateau d'Eau and the Place de la Bastille
continued to hold out; they were veritable fortresses, from which
proceeded an uninterrupted and most destructive fire. At twilight, while
the last remaining members of the Commune were stealing off to make
provision for their safety, Delescluze took his cane and walked
leisurely away to the barricade that was th