sharing a loaf of bread; two others were walking their mounts up and down, leading them by the bridle, not knowing where to look for stabling for them; officers were hurrying to and fro distractedly, seemingly without any distinct purpose.  On the Place Turenne a lieutenant counseled him not to loiter unnecessarily, for the shells had an unpleasant way of dropping there every now and then; indeed, a splinter had just demolished the railing about the statue of the great commander who overran the Palatinate.  And as if to emphasize the officer’s advice, while he was making fast time down the Rue de la Sous Prefecture he saw two projectiles explode, with a terrible crash, on the Pont de Meuse.

He was standing in front of the janitor’s lodge, debating with himself whether it would be best to send in his card and try to interview one of the aides-de-camp, when he heard a girlish voice calling him by name.

“M.  Delaherche!  Come in here, quick; it is not safe out there.”

It was Rose, his little operative, whose existence he had quite forgotten.  She might be a useful ally in assisting him to gain access to headquarters; he entered the lodge and accepted her invitation to be seated.

“Just think, mamma is down sick with the worry and confusion; she can’t leave her bed, so, you see, I have to attend to everything, for papa is with the National Guards up in the citadel.  A little while ago the Emperor left the building—­I suppose he wanted to let people see he is not a coward—­and succeeded in getting as far as the bridge down at the end of the street.  A shell alighted right in front of him; one of his equerries had his horse killed under him.  And then he came back—­he couldn’t do anything else, could he, now?”

“You must have heard some talk of how the battle is going.  What do they say, those gentlemen upstairs?”

She looked at him in surprise.  Her pretty face was bright and smiling, with its fluffy golden hair and the clear, childish eyes of one who bestirred herself among her multifarious duties, in the midst of all those horrors, which she did not well understand.

“No, I know nothing.  About midday I sent up a letter for Marshal MacMahon, but it could not be given him right away, because the Emperor was in the room.  They were together nearly an hour, the Marshal lying on his bed, the Emperor close beside him seated on a chair.  That much I know for certain, because I saw them when the door was opened.”

“And then, what did they say to each other?”

She looked at him again, and could not help laughing.

“Why, I don’t know; how could you expect me to?  There’s not a living soul knows what they said to each other.”

She was right; he made an apologetic gesture in recognition of the stupidity of his question.  But the thought of that fateful conversation haunted him; the interest there was in it for him who could have heard it!  What decision had they arrived at?