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Updated: May 11, 2025
Poor men! to die because they were so brave, Bolton hardly thirty years old; Guillebault, a father of a family, who leaves five children, and not a cent!" The countess, coming in at that moment, heard his last words. "As long as we have a mouthful of bread," she said in a voice full of deep emotion, "neither Bolton's mother, nor Guillebault's children, shall ever know what want is."
He had spent a bad night, and in the morning had displayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say a word to him. But even that was not all. At two o'clock precisely, the funeral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promised Capt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, and accompanied by the whole municipal council.
In a cart covered with a cloth, and followed by two priests, the almost carbonized remains of Bolton the drummer, and of poor Guillebault, had been brought home. The whole city had seen the widow go to the mayor's office, holding in her arms her youngest child, while the four others clung to her dress.
The roof of the house is falling, and buries under its ruins two men, the most zealous and most courageous of all the zealous and courageous men, Bolton the drummer, who had just now summoned his neighbors to come to the rescue, and Guillebault, a father with five children. "High above the crash and the hissing of flames rise their heart-rending cries. They call for help.
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