“They have met the enemy!� Rosaline exclaimed, straining her eyes and ears and leaning out of the window.
They could hear firing quite plainly now; and presently far off they saw a blaze kindled, and then the flames leaped up into the night, like fiery swords cutting the blackness in twain.
“They have set fire to the old château over there,� Rosaline said.
Madame de St. Cyr turned in her chair.
“Tell me what you see,� she exclaimed eagerly.
“Fire, grand’mère, leaping up in the night, and I hear the guns,� Rosaline replied, “and now—see, see, Babet!—there are black figures outlined against the flames! Ah, Dieu, they fight!—’tis a part of the battle—oh, if I could but see it plainly!�
The rattle of small arms came to them, and now the boom of heavier guns.
“They have brought artillery from Nîmes,� said Rosaline, in a low voice. “Ah, see, Babet, another house has caught! ’Tis the village in the highroad yonder; how it burns! The night is gaping as though we looked into a fiery furnace. Oh, mon Dieu, what a fearful sight it is! There! something exploded—see the timbers flying—some one perished when they fell.�
She leaned from the window and gazed at the wild night with a throbbing heart.
“Can you not see, Babet?� she cried. “I do—they fight there in the firelight—see their black figures—hush! there is a heavy gun.�