Perhaps the dreadful thought of his responsibilities arose before him, with the vision of all those thousands of bleeding forms with which his errors had cumbered the earth; perhaps, again, it was but the compassionate impulse of the tender-hearted dreamer, of the well-meaning man whose mind was stocked with humanitarian theories.  At the moment when he beheld utter ruin staring him in the face, in that frightful whirlwind of destruction that broke him like a reed and scattered his fortunes in the dust, he could yet find tears for others.  Almost crazed at the thought of the slaughter that was mercilessly going on so near him, he felt he had not strength to endure it longer; each report of that accursed cannonade seemed to pierce his heart and intensified a thousandfold his own private suffering.

“Oh, those guns, those guns! they must be silenced at once, at once!”

And that monarch who no longer had a throne, for he had delegated all his functions to the Empress regent, that chief without an army, since he had turned over the supreme command to Marshal Bazaine, now felt that he must once more take the reins in his hand and be the master.  Since they left Chalons he had kept himself in the background, had issued no orders, content to be a nameless nullity without recognized position, a cumbrous burden carried about from place to place among the baggage of his troops, and it was only in their hour of defeat that the Emperor reasserted itself in him; the one order that he was yet to give, out of the pity of his sorrowing heart, was to raise the white flag on the citadel to request an armistice.

“Those guns, oh! those guns!  Take a sheet, someone, a tablecloth, it matters not what! only hasten, hasten, and see that it is done!”

The aide-de-camp hurried from the room, and with unsteady steps the Emperor continued to pace his beat, back and forth, between the window and the fireplace, while still the batteries kept thundering, shaking the house from garret to foundation.

Delaherche was still chatting with Rose in the room below when a non-commissioned officer of the guard came running in and interrupted them.

“Mademoiselle, the house is in confusion, I cannot find a servant.  Can you let me have something from your linen closet, a white cloth of some kind?”

“Will a napkin answer?”

“No, no, it would not be large enough.  Half of a sheet, say.”

Rose, eager to oblige, was already fumbling in her closet.

“I don’t think I have any half-sheets.  No, I don’t see anything that looks as if it would serve your purpose.  Oh, here is something; could you use a tablecloth?”

“A tablecloth! just the thing.  Nothing could be better.”  And he added as he left the room:  “It is to be used as a flag of truce, and hoisted on the citadel to let the enemy know we want to stop the fighting.  Much obliged, mademoiselle.”