"Are they here—these Germans?" asked a fearful voice at his elbow.
Mansart also had quitted the house. That note of war, which was the first he had ever heard, had terrified him.
"You may be sure of it," said the other, laughing. "And it is to be hoped that you have some good things in your larder, for if these Prussians visit you you will find that they have the stomachs of wolves."
A bugle sounded.
"They will be expecting me," murmured La Hire.
It was frightfully cold. The air, like the earth, seemed frozen, biting the lungs and making it difficult to breathe. The swaying branches of the trees in the garden appeared to be trying to obtain a little warmth by the exercise. The final crescent of the moon had risen, and her pale gleam upon the fields seemed to have become petrified also with the cold, and permanent.
La Hire had no sooner made up his mind to move than a red flame glowed on the summit of the escarpment, and passed. It was quickly followed by a second heavy thud—the report of a six-pounder field-gun. A bright light appeared upon the sky, moving swiftly.
Something uttered a wail; something rushed amongst the acacia trees in the garden, flinging down branches and tearing up earth. There was a splitting report, sheeted flame, a terrible cry.
The night closed down as before, scarcely disturbed by that burst of passion.
La Hire relaxed his grip of the garden soil. He lifted his face, which was covered with earth.