Grandly—majestically, as though even at the end of its existence it must be worthy of the noble building to which it belonged, the tower slowly began to topple, and the boy presently saw it go crashing downward with a thunderous and muffled roar.
Then, as the wreckage piled over the ground, a vast, whirling column of dust mingled with the smoke, and through it all jagged and broken walls could be faintly discerned.
Don Hale again tried to regain his feet, but his limbs refused to support him.
Dunstan and Chase were lying almost flat on the ground, their faces ashen and drawn, and they too had been witnesses of the catastrophe. Don gained sufficient command over himself to struggle up, and was about to resume his flight when a fourth mighty, echoing blast resounded.
Shaken and jarred off his feet, he again fell back to the earth with a half articulate cry, gasping for breath. He looked toward the château. The massive walls were tumbling and crashing inward and outward. The dull roars, as débris piled upon débris, were terrific, and before they had ceased Don Hale saw the black smoke swirling in front of the building and completely hiding it from view.
And a few seconds later the mass hurled aloft by the explosion began descending all about the ambulanciers. Pieces of stone landed only a few yards from Don and sent the turf flying in his face. A few terrible instants passed before he quite realized that the danger from the deadly rain of missiles was over. Once more they had actually escaped a peril from which it had seemed that there could be no escape.
A great body of low-hanging smoke and dust rolling slowly over the ground soon shut from his eyes every vestige of the surroundings. Coughing and gasping from the fumes, he scrambled to his feet, and, though weak and shaky, managed to stagger away. No obscurity of fog could ever have been so dense as that in which he found himself. Like a blind man groping his way, the boy sought to get beyond its choking reach, and by the sound of footsteps close at hand he knew that Dunstan and Chase were making the same desperate efforts as himself.
Suddenly the faint light struggling to pierce the obscurity brightened. A few yards more, and, almost overcome, Don Hale emerged into the glorious sunshine.
His first thought was for his companions. Yes, they too were all right. But he had not yet recovered sufficiently from the suffocating effects of the smoke to speak. His brain was still whirling with a jumble of confused thoughts and impressions, and uppermost among them was the unpleasant reflection that perhaps they might have been responsible for the destruction of the grand old Château de Morancourt. Ah, indeed, Dunstan had been mistaken—there was something interesting in this part of the story.
The boys staggered along with all the strength they could command, but no other shells landed in the vicinity.