“Certainly, doctor. And mamma, when she heard it, rose up straight, and lowered her head, like one who listens. Almost immediately, the second shot was fired. Mamma raised her hands to heaven, and cried out, ‘Great God!’ And then she went out, running fast.”
Never was a smile more false than that which Dr. Seignebos forced himself to retain on his lips while the little girl was telling her story.
“You have dreamed all that, Martha,” he said.
The governess here interposed, saying,—
“The young lady has not dreamed it, sir. I, also, heard the shots fired; and I had just opened the door of my room to hear what was going on, when I saw madame cross the landing swiftly, and rush down stairs.
“Oh! I do not doubt it,” said the doctor, in the most indifferent tone he could command: “the circumstance is very trifling.”
But the little girl was bent on finishing her story.
“When mamma had left,” she went on, “I became frightened, and raised myself on my bed to listen. Soon I heard a noise which I did not know,—cracking and snapping of wood, and then cries at a distance. I got more frightened, jumped down, and ran to open the door. But I nearly fell down, there was such a cloud of smoke and sparks. Still I did not lose my head. I waked my little sister, and tried to get on the staircase, when Cocoleu rushed in like a madman, and took us both out.”
“Martha,” called a voice from the house, “Martha!”
The child cut short her story, and said,—