; what could it mean? A signal, doubtless,
telling of the successful completion of some movement, announcing that
everything was ready, down there, and that now the sun might rise.

It was about two o'clock when Henriette, forgetting even to close her
window, at last threw herself, fully dressed, upon her bed. Her anxiety
and fatigue had stupefied her and benumbed her faculties. What could ail
her, thus to shiver and burn alternately, she who was always so calm
and self-reliant, moving with so light a step that those about her were
unconscious of her existence? Finally she sank into a fitful, broken
slumber that brought with it no repose, in which was present still that
persistent sensation of impending evil that filled the dusky heavens.
All at once, arousing her from her unrefreshing stupor, the firing
commenced again, faint and muffled in the distance, not a single
shot this time, but peal after peal following one another in quick
succession. Trembling, she sat upright in bed. The firing continued.
Where was she? The place seemed strange to her; she could not
distinguish the objects in her chamber, which appeared to be filled with
dense clouds of smoke. Then she remembered: the fog must have rolled in
from the near-by river and entered the room through the window. Without,
the distant firing was growing fiercer. She leaped from her bed and ran
to the casement to listen.

Four o'clock was striking from a steeple in Sedan, and day was breaking,
tingeing the purplish mists with a sickly, sinister light. It was
impossible to discern objects; even the college buildings, distant but
a few yards, were undistinguishable. Where could the firing be, _mon
Dieu_! Her first thought was for her brother Maurice; for the reports
were so indistinct that they seemed to her to come from the north, above
the city; then, listening more attentively, her doubt became certainty;
the cannonading was there, before her, and she trembled for her husband.
It was surely at Bazeilles. For a little time, however, she suffered
herself to be cheered by a ray of hope, for there were moments when
the reports seemed to come from the right. Perhaps the fighting was at
Donchery, where she knew that the French had not succeeded in blowing
up the bridge. Then she lapsed into a condition of most horrible
uncertainty; it seemed to be now at Donchery, now at Bazeilles; which,
it was impossible to decide, there was such a ringing, buzzing sensation
in her head