Old Marie, who had the tireless industry of her class, managed to keep employed by incessant knitting, after she had done the work of the two cellars. Diane, a worker by nature and habit, put strong compulsion on herself to sit still for hours and hours, her hands in her lap. Jean and François, conquered by their weakness, also remained still and quiet. Through the open door Diane could not see their eyes constantly fixed upon her in the little circle of light made by the one candle. She took them their food, and helped them with all the natural helpfulness of a tender and capable woman. That was her sole employment. She often wished in that strange procession of time which could not be called days or weeks, that she had fifty wounded men to attend to instead of two.
At last, one night, Jean said to Diane:
“It’s time for me to be going. I feel strong enough to carry a musket, and I shall feel stronger still when I get into the fresh air.”
Diane said no word; she was the last woman on earth to detain a man from his duty.
François, who was then able to walk about with a stick made from a broom handle, protested in a whisper:
“Who is to chaperon Diane and me,” he asked, “when old Marie goes out at night?”
As he spoke, Jean slipped cautiously to the stone steps and lifted up the cellar door about an inch, showing the black night without. A great wave of smoke and an odor of flame rushed in, and through the crack thus made was seen a sky on fire with the luridness of miles of burning buildings. Paris had been set on fire by the Communards.
As Diane, leaning over Jean’s shoulder, caught a glimpse of the blazing sky, there was a crash of doors and windows overhead, a trampling of feet, drunken men and women shouting, laughing, swearing, fighting. In the midst of the uproar they could hear the grand piano, the only piece of furniture left in the house, dragged across the drawing-room floor, and the crash of music as it was pounded to accompany ribald songs. Jean quickly dropped the cellar door. They had no arms except each a pistol out of which their bullets had been fired, and there were no more bullets to be had.
As the drunken crew overhead grew more noisy and numerous, they overflowed into the garden, trampling the neglected flower beds and laughing like demons. Presently they rushed to the cellar door and lifted it up wide. They saw no light within, but a woman’s voice shrieked:
“If there is any champagne, it’s in the cellar!”