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Updated: June 13, 2025
When Jean ascended the dark staircase of the house in the Rue des Orties, in the gathering obscurity of that Sunday evening, his heart was oppressed by a chill sense of impending evil. He entered the room, and saw at once that the inevitable end was come; Maurice lay dead on the little bed; the hemorrhage predicted by Bouroche had done its work.
Major Bouroche, with the intention of keeping the ambulance and garden from being overrun with intruders, had caused two sentries to be mounted at the door. This measure was a source of great comfort to Delaherche, who had begun to contemplate the possibilities of his house being subjected to pillage.
In Falaise, the village near which the camp was pitched, Maurice had come across a small farmer, an old friend of his father's, who was about to drive his daughter over to Chene to visit an aunt in that town, and the horse was even then standing waiting, hitched to a light carriole. The prospect was far from encouraging, however, when he broached the subject to Major Bouroche.
And he was mentally discussing matters, when who should come up but Major Bouroche, panting, perspiring, and swearing. "Tonnerre de Dieu! I wonder if my head's on my shoulders or not!"
Two attendants came in, bearing Captain Beaudoin on a stretcher. "Major," Delaherche ventured to say, "here is the captain." Bouroche opened his eyes, withdrew his arms from their cold bath, shook and dried them on the straw. Then, rising to his feet: "Ah, yes; the next one Well, well, the day's work is not yet done."
Giving a quick downward glance at his shoulder, he saw the bleeding stump and knew what had been done, whereon he became furiously angry. "Ah, nom de Dieu! what have you been doing to me? It is a shame!" Bouroche was too done up to make him an immediate answer, but presently, in his fatherly way: "I acted for the best; I didn't want to see you kick the bucket, my boy.
"Major," said Delaherche, plucking him by the sleeve, "there is an officer over here, Captain Beaudoin " Bouroche interrupted him. "What, Beaudoin here! Ah, the poor devil!" And he crossed over at once to the side of the wounded man.
From behind them Maurice and Jean distinctly heard old Bouroche growl, having first surveyed the sovereign with his practiced eye: "There's no mistake about it, that man is in a bad way." Then he succinctly completed his diagnosis: "His jig is up!" Jean shook his head and thought in his limited, common sense way: "It is a confounded shame to let a man like that have command of the army!"
Gilberte had to support herself against one of the uprights of the shed. Ah! that flesh, that poor flesh that was so white; now all torn and maimed and bleeding! Despite the horror and terror of the sight she could not turn away her eyes. "Confound it!" Bouroche exclaimed, "they have made a nice mess here!"
And the handsome old elms, with their deliciously cool shade, roofed the spot in most agreeably. Bouroche had considered it would be best to establish himself in Sedan at the commencement, foreseeing the dreadful slaughter and the inevitable panic that would sooner or later drive the troops to the shelter of the ramparts.
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