'Good-bye,' she said, embracing Delaherche; 'settle your business and make haste back.'
Then she retired, slowly betaking herself to the prison-like room across the landing, where the colonel, ever with the same expression of stupor on his face, was gazing into the dimness which surrounded the circle of pale light falling from the lamp.
Henriette went back to Remilly that same evening, and three days later, in the morning, she was delighted to see old Fouchard walk into the farm, as calmly as though he had merely come back from driving some bargain in the neighbourhood. He sat down and ate some bread and cheese. And to all the questions that he was plied with, he responded in a calm, deliberate way like a man who had never felt in the least degree uneasy respecting the issue of his affair. Why should they have kept him prisoner? He had done nothing wrong. It wasn't he who had killed the Prussian spy, was it? So he had contented himself with saying to the authorities; 'Find out all about it if you can, but for my part I know nothing.' And they had been obliged to release him, and the mayor as well, since they had no proofs against either of them. But at the same time, cunning, scoffing peasant that he was, his eyes twinkled with inward merriment, in his mute delight at having got the better of those dirty scamps, of whom he was growing quite sick and tired now that they had begun cavilling about the quality of his meat.
December was drawing to an end, and Jean insisted on leaving. His leg was now firm and strong again, and the doctor declared that he might go and fight. For Henriette this was a source of great affliction, which she strove to hide. They had had no news of Paris since the disastrous battle of Champigny. They simply knew that Maurice's regiment, exposed to a murderous fire, had on that occasion lost many men. There was ever the same unbroken silence on his part; no letter, not a line reached them, although they knew that some families of Raucourt and Sedan had received messages by circuitous routes. Perhaps the pigeon bearing the tidings which they so ardently longed for had encountered some voracious hawk, or had fallen on the verge of a wood, killed by a Prussian bullet. Above everything else, however, they were haunted by the fear that Maurice might be dead. In their case the silence of the great city over yonder, mute in the grip of the investment, had become like the silence of the tomb. They had now lost all hope of tidings, and so, when Jean expressed his formal desire to be gone, Henriette gave utterance to a stifled plaint: 'My God, so it is all over, I shall be entirely alone!'
Jean's desire was to join the Army of the North, which General Faidherbe had lately reformed. This army was defending three departments, the Nord, the Pas-de-Calais, and the Somme, which had become separated from the rest of France since General von Manteuffel's corps had pushed forward to Dieppe; and Jean's plan, susceptible of easy accomplishment, was to make his way to Bouillon, and pass round by way of Belgium. He knew that the formation of the Twenty-third Army Corps was being completed by gathering together all the old soldiers of Sedan and Metz that could be found. He had heard it reported also that General Faidherbe was resuming the offensive, and when he read of the engagement of Pont-Noyelle[48]—that drawn battle which the French almost won—he definitely fixed his departure for the ensuing Sunday.
It was again in this instance Dr. Dalichamp who offered his gig and his services as driver, so that Jean might get more easily to Bouillon. The doctor's courage and goodness of heart were inexhaustible. At Raucourt, whose inhabitants were being decimated by typhus, brought there by the Bavarians, he had patients in almost every house, in addition to those in the two ambulances which he attended, that of Raucourt itself and that of Remilly. His ardent patriotism, the impulse which always prompted him to protest against all needless violence, had twice led to his arrest by the Prussians, who had, however, promptly set him at liberty again. And he was laughing with genuine satisfaction on the morning when he arrived in his trap to drive Jean away, delighted, indeed, at being able to facilitate the escape of another of those vanquished soldiers of Sedan, those poor brave fellows whom he tended with all his professional skill and assisted with his purse. Jean, whom the pecuniary question greatly worried, for he knew very well that Henriette was by no means rich, had readily accepted the fifty francs offered him by the doctor to defray the expenses of his journey.
Old Fouchard behaved handsomely at the leave-taking. He sent Silvine to the cellar for two bottles of wine, desiring that everyone should drain a glass to the extermination of the Germans. He was henceforth a well-to-do man, with his 'pile' securely hidden away somewhere; and, easy in mind since the Francs-tireurs of the Dieulet Woods, tracked like wild beasts, had disappeared from the neighbourhood, he now had but one desire, that of enjoying the approaching peace as soon as it should be concluded. In a fit of generosity, moreover, he had even given wages to Prosper, by way of attaching him to the farm, which the young man, however, had no desire to leave. And Fouchard not merely chinked glasses with Prosper, but also with Silvine, whom he had at one moment thought of marrying, so well behaved and so intent on her work did he now find her. But what use would it be? He divined that she would never go astray again, that she would still be there when Charlot had grown up and in his turn went for a soldier. And when he had chinked glasses with the doctor, with Henriette and with Jean, the old fellow exclaimed:
'There! To everybody's health, and may everybody prosper and feel no worse than I do!'
Henriette had insisted upon accompanying Jean as far as Sedan. He was dressed for the occasion in civilian attire, wearing an overcoat and low hat which the doctor had lent him. The sun shone brightly over the snow that morning, although it was terribly cold. Their intention had been to drive through the town without stopping, but when Jean learnt that his colonel was still staying with the Delaherches, he felt a strong desire to go and pay his respects to him, and at the same time thank the manufacturer for his kindness. A final grief awaited him, however, in that town of disaster and affliction. When they reached the factory in the Rue Maqua, they found the house turned topsy-turvy by a tragic occurrence. Gilberte was in a state of wild grief; old Madame Delaherche was weeping big silent tears, and her son, who had come up from his loom-shops, where work had in some measure been resumed, was giving vent to exclamations of surprise. The colonel had just been found dead, lying all of a heap upon the floor of his room, where that eternal lamp was still burning. A doctor, summoned in all haste, had been unable to understand the case, finding no probable cause, neither heart-trouble nor congestion, to which he could ascribe this sudden death. M. de Vineuil had expired thunderstruck as it were, though none could tell whence the bolt had fallen. And it was only on the morrow that a fragment of an old newspaper was picked up in the room, a scrap which had served to cover a book, and which contained an account of the surrender of Metz!
'My dear,' said Gilberte to Henriette, 'just now when Captain Gartlauben came down stairs, he uncovered as he passed the door of the room where my uncle's body is lying—Edmond saw him do so—he is certainly a well-bred man, isn't he?'