at he was in Bazeilles, so near the
German lines, was cause to her of deep anxiety. She tried to soothe her
apprehensions by reminding herself that she had his solemn promise to
return at the first appearance of danger; it availed not, and at
every instant she detected herself listening to catch the sound of his
footstep on the stair. At ten o'clock, as she was about to go to bed,
she opened her window, and resting her elbows on the sill, gazed out
into the night.

The darkness was intense; looking downward, she could scarce discern the
pavement of the Rue des Voyards, a narrow, obscure passage, overhung by
old frowning mansions. Further on, in the direction of the college,
a smoky street lamp burned dimly. A nitrous exhalation rose from
the street; the squall of a vagrant cat; the heavy step of a belated
soldier. From the city at her back came strange and alarming sounds:
the patter of hurrying feet, an ominous, incessant rumbling, a muffled
murmur without a name that chilled her blood. Her heart beat loudly in
her bosom as she bent her ear to listen, and still she heard not the
familiar echo of her husband's step at the turning of the street below.

Hours passed, and now distant lights that began to twinkle in the open
fields beyond the ramparts excited afresh her apprehensions. It was so
dark that it cost her an effort of memory to recall localities. She knew
that the broad expanse that lay beneath her, reflecting a dim light,
was the flooded meadows, and that flame that blazed up and was suddenly
extinguished, surely it must be on la Marfee. But never, to her certain
knowledge, had there been farmer's house or peasant's cottage on those
heights; what, then, was the meaning of that light? And then on every
hand, at Pont-Maugis, Noyers, Frenois, other fires arose, coruscating
fitfully for an instant and giving mysterious indication of the presence
of the swarming host that lay hidden in the bosom of the night.
Yet more: there were strange sounds and voices in the air, subdued
murmurings such as she had never heard before, and that made her start
in terror; the stifled hum of marching men, the neighing and snorting
of steeds, the clash of arms, hoarse words of command, given in guttural
accents; an evil dream of a demoniac crew, a witch's sabbat, in the
depths of those unholy shades. Suddenly a single cannon-shot rang out,
ear-rending, adding fresh terror to the dead silence that succeeded
it. It froze her very marrow