CHAPTER XIX.
AFTER THE STORM.
Three days have elapsed since Yvon Cloarek left his home without notifying his daughter of his intended departure, and this once pleasant and tranquil abode shows traces of recent devastation almost everywhere.
One of the out-buildings have been almost entirely destroyed by fire, and pieces of blackened rubbish and half-burned rafters cover a part of the garden.
The door and several windows on the ground floor, which have been shattered by an axe, have been replaced by boards; several large red stains disfigure the walls, and several of the sashes in the second story have been riddled with shot.
It is midnight.
By the light of a shaded lamp burning in one of the sleeping apartments, one can dimly discern the form of Onésime, and the sheets of the bed on which he is lying are stained with blood in several places.
Suzanne's nephew seems to be asleep. His face is death-like in its pallor, and a melancholy smile is playing upon his parted lips.
An elderly woman in peasant garb is sitting by his bedside, watching him with evident solicitude.
The profound silence that pervades the room is broken by the cautious opening and shutting of the door, and Dame Roberts steals on tiptoe up to the bed, and, drawing one of the curtains a little aside, gazes in upon her nephew with great anxiety.
In three days Suzanne's features have become almost unrecognisable,—sorrow, anxiety, and tears have wrought such ravages in them.