The cannonade and firing redoubled and came nearer. Evidently there was fighting very near us, quite close to us. The next day towards noon we saw them both come back, the General and Mme. General. And in what a condition! Panting, frightened, forbidding, with clothes white with dust, and hands and faces black with powder. The General was wounded in the left hand, he had twisted around his wrist a handkerchief bathed in blood.
"Does your arm hurt you?" Mme. General said to him.
"It stings a little, that's all."
"Are they following us?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Listen! There are noises, shouts."
"Look out of the window without showing yourself."
"The red trousers! They are here!"
"Lock and bolt the door. Get the revolvers and load them. I can't on account of my arm. This wound is a bore."
"You are so pale!"