Uncle François knit his grey brows, and gazed steadily into his nephew’s eyes.
“Look here! Are you lying, Pierre?” he asked. “Have you really seen all this?”
“Yes. I have seen it with my own eyes.”
“I don’t believe you,” declared the old man bluntly. “I will go out and see for myself what these German fiends are doing.”
“Oh! In the name of God, don’t!” cried his nephew in quick apprehension. “You will certainly be killed. The whole of the Rue Sax, along by the river-bank, is burning. Not a single house has escaped. They intend, it seems, to destroy all our town, on both sides of the river, now that they have repaired their pontoon. Think that we have lived in Dinant to witness this!”
“But what shall we do?” gasped the poor old fellow. “How can we save these poor women?” His words were overheard by Aimée, who rose quickly and came forward, asking:
“What has happened?” and, indicating the young man, she asked, “What has this gentleman been telling you?”
“Oh—well—nothing very important, Mademoiselle,” François answered with hesitation. “This is Doctor Pierre Fiévet, my nephew, and he has just brought me a message. There is no real danger, Mademoiselle,” he assured her. “Our splendid troops are still close by, and will drive the invaders out, as before. The brigand, Von Emmich, will meet his deserts before long, depend upon it, my dear Mademoiselle.”
The girl, thus assured, withdrew to allow the two men to continue their conversation, which she believed to be of a private character.
“Don’t alarm these women, Pierre,” whispered old François. “Poor creatures, they are suffering enough already,” “But what will you do? What can you do? At any moment they may burn down this place—and you will all be suffocated like rats in a hole.”