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Little Charlot came running up and hid among her petticoats, astonished and frightened to see a strange man there. Then succeeded a few seconds of awkward silence. "And this is the little one, then?" Goliah asked at last in his most dulcet tone. "Yes," was Silvine's curt, stern answer. Silence again settled down upon the room.
He knew Silvine's story, and had a very kindly feeling for the meek, courageous girl whom misfortune had tried so sorely, mourning the only man she had ever loved, her sole comfort that child of shame whose existence was a daily reproach to her.
"Oh, no; Silvine is out at the barn, feeding the cows. Would you like to see her?" Goliah laughed. "Well, yes. To be quite frank with you, it was on Silvine's account that I came." Old Fouchard felt as if a great load had been taken off his mind; he went to the door and shouted at the top of his voice: "Silvine! Silvine! There's someone here to see you."
Jean and Maurice awoke, stiff and shivering, and got on their feet. Honore took Silvine's hands in his and gave them a swift parting clasp. "It is a promise. Wait for me." She could find no word to say in answer, but all her soul went out to him in one long, last look, as he leaped from the window and hurried away to find his battery. "Good-by, father!" "Good-by, my boy!"
Before putting Charlot to bed it was Silvine's nightly custom to take him in to say good-night to Jean, with whom the youngster was on terms of great friendship. As she entered the room that evening, holding her candle before her, she beheld the convalescent seated upright in bed, his open eyes peering into the obscurity. What, was he not asleep?
Silvine's pallor was frightful to behold, while Father Fouchard displayed his interest in the narrative by replacing upon the table his glass, into which he had just poured what wine remained in the bottle. "Are you quite certain?" she asked in a choking voice. "Dame! as certain as one can be of a thing he has seen with his own two eyes.
And the night grew old, and still the artillery was passing, with the mad roar of a tempest let loose upon the land, amid the frantic cheering of the men. Maurice's fatigue was too much for him, and notwithstanding the interest with which he listened to Silvine's narrative, after the substantial meal he had eaten he let his head decline upon the table on his crossed arms.
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