“Because he has need of you.”
She started back with a cry of terror.
“Oh, my God!” she cried, “what is it—what do you hide from me?”
“I hide nothing. It is best that you should know. I thought that you did know when you came here. Your husband was struck by a fragment of a shell in the Broglie to-night, and is now lying in the house of Laroche, the surgeon.” For an instant she stood with eyes wide open and hands trembling upon her breast.
“Take me to Edmond,” she said.
CHAPTER XXXI
“THERE IS NIGHT IN THE HILLS”
It seemed that Strasburg could suffer no more; and yet she continued unyieldingly to suffer. Hours became days, and days weeks, and still no white flag floated over her citadel; nor were the voices of her brave men silent. Down below in the cellars the timid wailed and cried for light and bread. Mighty lanterns, the shells of her great buildings, gave to the night the crimson beacons which seemed dyed with the very blood of the dead. Faint hearts told each other that the Hotel de Ville, the theatre, the New Church, the Governor’s house, the Library, were but ashes upon barren wastes. Two thousand dead the city mourned; and yet, mourning them, prepared to die. The ultimate woe of despair was upon a helpless people. Their homes crumbled to the very dust. The open grave became their offering to France and the children of France.