tside rose clear and
distinct:

"Vive la Republique! A bas l'Empereur!"

The Emperor spoke, looking straight at Lorraine: "Gentlemen, we
cannot disturb a woman. Pray find another house."

After a moment the officers began to back out, one by one,
through the doorway. The Emperor still stood by the bed, his
vague, inscrutable eyes fixed on Lorraine.

Jack moved towards the bed, trembling. The Emperor raised his
colourless face.

"Monsieur--your sister? No--your wife?"

"My promised wife, sire," muttered Jack, cold with fear.

"A child," said the Emperor, softly.

With a vague gesture he stepped nearer, smoothed the coverlet,
bent closer, and touched the sleeping girl's forehead with his
lips. Then he stood up, gray-faced, impassive.

"I am an old man," he said, as though to himself. He looked at
Jack, who now came close to him, holding out something in one
hand. It was the steel box.

"For me, monsieur?" asked the Emperor.

Jack nodded. He could not speak.

The Emperor took the box, still looking at Jack.

There was a moment's silence, then Jack spoke: "It may be too
late. It is a plan of a balloon--we brought it to you from
Lorraine--"

The uproar in the streets drowned his voice--"Mort a l'Empereur!
A bas l'Empire!"

A staff-officer opened the door and peered in; the Emperor
stepped to the threshold.

"I thank you--I thank you both, my children," he said. His eyes
wandered again towards the bed; the cries in the street rang out
furiously.

"Mort a l'Empereur!"

The Sister of Mercy was kneeling by the bed; Jack shivered, and
dropped his head.

When he looked up the Emperor had gone.

All night long he watched at the bedside, leaning on his elbow,
one hand shading his eyes from the candle-flame. The Sister of
Mercy, white and worn with the duties of that terrible day, slept
upright in an arm-chair.

Dawn brought the sad notes of Prussian trumpets from the ramparts
pealing through the devastated city; at sunrise the pavements
rang and shook with the trample of the White Cuirassiers. A Saxon
infantry band burst into the "Wacht am Rhine" at the Paris Gate;
the Place Turenne vomited Uhlans. Jack sank down by the bed,
burying his face in the sheets.

The Sister of Mercy rubbed her eyes and started up. She touched
Jack on the shoulder.

"I am going to be very ill," he said, raising a face burning with
fever. "Never mind me, but stay with her."

"I understand," said the Sister, gently. "You