The week which followed the fall of St. Quentin was a period of strenuous exertion on the part of the conquerors.
The dead were buried, the city was cleansed of its many impurities, and the devastating fires which had threatened the destruction of the whole town were at length subdued.
Of all the religious edifices in the city the cathedral alone remained unconsumed by the devouring element. Philip had himself superintended the efforts made for its preservation; streets were pulled down, strong buildings were blown up by gunpowder, and at length the noble building stood in grand isolation, but safe from fire.
A strong Spanish garrison was placed in possession of St. Quentin; the remainder of the army was under orders to prepare for instant and active service.
The neighbouring towns of Picardy, Catelet, Ham, and Chanley were to be besieged forthwith, and the camp was full of zeal and animation—for surely fresh spoils awaited the soldiers of Philip, and bright visions of glory and honour filled the minds of the chieftains. In the English camp alone these feelings held no sway. The war had never been popular with them—they felt that they were fighting the battles of King Philip, and not those of their own country.
And now that the main object of the expedition had been won, and the chief town in Picardy captured, the English contingent were eager to return home.
In the evening of a fine September day Lord Clinton's three aides-de-camp were reposing in their tent after a day's active exertion.
That day a courier had brought them letters from England, and the young men were eagerly discussing home news.
Susan had written to each of them, for she had much to tell.