A Beleaguered City - Being a Narrative of Certain Recent Events in the City of Semur, in the Department of the Haute Bourgogne. A Story of the Seen and the Unseen by Mrs. (Margaret) Oliphant
page 108 of 135 (80%)
page 108 of 135 (80%)
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darkness, to the sky above us and to me beside her, all confused and
bewildered; and the children clung to her, all in tears, crying with that wail which is endless--the trouble of childhood which does not know why it is troubled. 'Maman! Maman!' they cried, 'let us go home.' 'Oh! be silent, my little ones,' said the poor woman; 'be silent; we will go to M. le Maire--he will not leave us without a friend.' It was then that I saw what my duty was. But it was with a pang--_bon Dieu!_--when I turned my back upon my Martin, when I went away to shelter, to peace, leaving my son thus in face of an offended Heaven and all the invisible powers, do you suppose it was a whole heart I carried in my breast? But no! it was nothing save a great ache--a struggle as of death. But what of that? I had my duty to do, as he had--and as he did not flinch, so did not I; otherwise he would have been ashamed of his mother--and I? I should have felt that the blood was not mine which ran in his veins. No one can tell what it was, that march to La Clairière. Agnès at first was like an angel. I hope I always do Madame Martin justice. She is a saint. She is good to the bottom of her heart. Nevertheless, with those natures which are enthusiast--which are upborne by excitement--there is also a weakness. Though she was brave as the holy Pucelle when we set out, after a while she flagged like another. The colour went out of her face, and though she smiled still, yet the tears came to her eyes, and she would have wept with the other women, and with the wail of the weary children, and all the agitation, and the weariness, and the length of the way, had not I recalled her to herself. 'Courage!' I said to her. 'Courage, _ma fille!_ We will throw open all the chambers. I will give up even that one in which my Martin Dupin, the father of thy husband, died.' '_Ma mère_,' she said, holding my hand to her bosom, 'he is not dead--he is in Semur.' Forgive me, dear Lord! It gave me a pang that she could see him and not I. 'For me,' I cried, 'it is enough to know that |
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