themselves as little as possible. They had a powerful artillery fire,
moreover, to sustain them; the pure, cool air was vocal with the
shrieking of shells. Raising his eyes he saw that the Pont-Maugis
battery was not the only one that was playing on Bazeilles; two
others, posted half way up the hill of Liry, had opened fire, and
their projectiles not only reached the village, but swept the naked
plain of la Moncelle beyond, where the reserves of the 12th corps
were, and even the wooded slopes of Daigny, held by a division of the
1st corps, were not beyond their range. There was not a summit,
moreover, on the left bank of the stream that was not tipped with
flame. The guns seemed to spring spontaneously from the soil, like
some noxious growth; it was a zone of fire that grew hotter and
fiercer every moment; there were batteries at Noyers shelling Balan,
batteries at Wadelincourt shelling Sedan, and at Frenois, down under
la Marfee, there was a battery whose guns, heavier than the rest, sent
their missiles hurtling over the city to burst among the troops of the
7th corps on the plateau of Floing. Those hills that he had always
loved so well, that he had supposed were planted there solely to
delight the eye, encircling with their verdurous slopes the pretty,
peaceful valley that lay beneath, were now become a gigantic, frowning
fortress, vomiting ruin and destruction on the feeble defenses of
Sedan, and Weiss looked on them with terror and detestation. Why had
steps not been taken to defend them the day before, if their leaders
had suspected this, or why, rather, had they insisted on holding the
position?

A sound of falling plaster caused him to raise his head; a shot had
grazed his house, the front of which was visible to him above the
party wall. It angered him excessively, and he growled: