ing the air with such
violence that its waves reached even to the window.

It went flying . . . flying, its roar lessening. Some time passed before
they noticed its effects, and the two friends began to believe that
it must have been lost in space. "It will not strike . . . it will not
strike," they were thinking. Suddenly there surged up on the horizon,
exactly in the spot indicated over the blur of the woods, a tremendous
column of smoke, a whirling tower of black vapor followed by a volcanic
explosion.

"How dreadful it must be to be there!" said the senator.

He and Desnoyers were experiencing a sensation of animal joy, a selfish
hilarity in seeing themselves in such a safe place several yards
underground.

"The Germans are going to reply at any moment," said Don Marcelo to his
friend.

The senator was of the same opinion. Undoubtedly they would retaliate,
carrying on an artillery duel.

All of the French batteries had opened fire. The mountain was
thundering, the shell whining, the horizon, still tranquil, was
bristling with black, spiral columns. The two realized more and more how
snug they were in this retreat, like a box at the theatre.

Someone touched Lacour on the shoulder. It was one of the captains who
was conducting them through the front.

"We are going above," he said simply. "You must see close by how our
cannons are working. The sight will be well worth the trouble."

Above? . . . The illustrious man was as perplexed, as astonished as
though he had suggested an interplanetary trip. Above, when the enemy
was going to reply from one minute to another? . . .

The captain explained that sub-Lieutenant Lacour was perhaps awaiting
his father. By telephone they had advised his battery stationed a little
further on; it would be necessary to go now in order to see him. So
they again climbed up to the light through the mouth of the tunnel. The
senator then drew himself up, majestically erect.

"They are going to fire at us," said a voice in his interior, "The foe
is going to reply."

But he adjusted his coat like a tragic mantle and advanced at a
circumspect and solemn pace. If those military men, adversaries of
parliamentarism, fancied that they were going to laugh up their sleeve
at the timidity of a civilian, he would show them their mistake!

Desnoyers could not but admire the resolution with which the great man
made his exit from the shelter, exactly as if he were going to march
against the