"Ah, here is Francoise," continued the accountant. "I must have a look
at your little Charles. Come, come, you have no cause for alarm; he
will be all right in a couple of days. Keep your courage up, and the
first thing you do go inside, and don't put your nose outside the
door." And the two men at last started to go.

"_Au revoir_, Francoise."

"_Au revoir_, sirs."

And as they spoke, there came an appalling crash. It was a shell,
which, having first wrecked the chimney of Weiss's house, fell upon
the sidewalk, where it exploded with such terrific force as to break
every window in the vicinity. At first it was impossible to
distinguish anything in the dense cloud of dust and smoke that rose in
the air, but presently this drifted away, disclosing the ruined facade
of the dyehouse, and there, stretched across the threshold, Francoise,
a corpse, horribly torn and mangled, her skull crushed in, a fearful
spectacle.

Weiss sprang to her side. Language failed him; he could only express
his feelings by oaths and imprecations.

"_Nom de Dieu!_ _Nom de Dieu!_"

Yes, she was dead. He had stooped to feel her pulse, and as he arose
he saw before him the scarlet face of little Charles, who had raised
himself in bed to look at his mother. He spoke no word, he uttered no
cry; he gazed with blazing, tearless eyes, distended as if they would
start from their sockets, upon the shapeless mass that was strange,