inter night. They were now unable to distinguish the valley or the
hills; they heard only the hoarse plaints of the bells, sounding through
the deep obscurity like invisible drums, hidden they knew not where, but
ever goading them on with despairing calls.

Miette and Silvere went on, all eagerness like the others. Towards
daybreak, the girl suffered greatly from fatigue; she could only walk
with short hurried steps, and was unable to keep up with the long
strides of the men who surrounded her. Nevertheless she courageously
strove to suppress all complaints; it would have cost her too much
to confess that she was not as strong as a boy. During the first few
leagues of the march Silvere gave her his arm; then, seeing that the
standard was gradually slipping from her benumbed hands, he tried to
take it in order to relieve her; but she grew angry, and would only
allow him to hold it with one hand while she continued to carry it on
her shoulder. She thus maintained her heroic demeanour with childish
stubbornness, smiling at the young man each time he gave her a glance of
loving anxiety. At last, when the moon hid itself, she gave way in the
sheltering darkness. Silvere felt her leaning more heavily on his arm.
He now had to carry the flag, and hold her round the waist to prevent
her from stumbling. Nevertheless she still made no complaint.

"Are you very tired, poor Miette?" Silvere asked her.

"Yea, a little tired," she replied in a weary tone.

"Would you like to rest a bit?"

She made no reply; but he realised that she was staggering. He thereupon
handed the flag to one of the other insurgents and quitted the ranks,
almost carrying the girl in his arms. She struggled a little, she felt
so distressed at appearing such a child. But he calmed her, telling her
that he knew of a cross-road which shortened the distance by one half.
They would be able to take a good hour's rest and reach Orcheres at the
same time as the others.

It was then six o'clock. There must have been a slight mist rising from
the Viorne, for the darkness seemed to be growing denser. The young
people groped their way along the slope of the Garrigues, till they came
to a rock on which they sat down. Around them lay an abyss of darkness.
They were stranded, as it were, on some reef above a dense void. And
athwart that void, when the dull tramp of the little army had died away,
they only heard two bells, the one clear toned and ringing doubtless at
the