ion diminished in numbers, Miette raised the
banner still higher in the air; she held it in front of her with
clenched fists as if it were a huge taper. It was completely riddled
by bullets. When Silvere had no more cartridges left in his pocket, he
ceased firing, and gazed at the carbine with an air of stupor. It was
then that a shadow passed over his face, as though the flapping wings
of some colossal bird had brushed against his forehead. And raising his
eyes he saw the banner fall from Miette's grasp. The child, her hands
clasped to her breast, her head thrown back with an expression of
excruciating suffering, was staggering to the ground. She did not utter
a single cry, but sank at last upon the red banner.

"Get up; come quickly," Silvere said, in despair, as he held out his
hand to her.

But she lay upon the ground without uttering a word, her eyes wide open.
Then he understood, and fell on his knees beside her.

"You are wounded, eh? tell me? Where are you wounded?"

She still spoke no word; she was stifling, and gazing at him out of her
large eyes, while short quivers shook her frame. Then he pulled away her
hands.

"It's there, isn't it? it's there."

And he tore open her bodice, and laid her bosom bare. He searched, but
saw nothing. His eyes were brimming with tears. At last under the left
breast he perceived a small pink hole; a single drop of blood stained
the wound.

"It's nothing," he whispered; "I'll go and find Pascal, he'll put you
all right again. If you could only get up. Can't you move?"

The soldiers were not firing now; they had dashed to the left in pursuit
of the contingents led away by the man with the sabre. And in the centre
of the esplanade there only remained Silvere kneeling beside Miette's
body. With the stubbornness of despair, he had taken her in his arms. He
wanted to set her on her feet, but such a quiver of pain came upon the
girl that he laid her down again, and said to her entreatingly: "Speak
to me, pray. Why don't you say something to me?"

She could not; she slowly, gently shook her hand, as if to say that
it was not her fault. Her close-pressed lips were already contracting
beneath the touch of death. With her unbound hair streaming around her,
and her head resting amid the folds of the blood-red banner, all her
life now centred in her eyes, those black eyes glittering in her white
face. Silvere sobbed. The glance of those big sorrowful eyes filled him
with distress.