light, was the flooded meadows, and that flame that blazed up and was
suddenly extinguished, surely it must be on la Marfee. But never, to
her certain knowledge, had there been farmer's house or peasant's
cottage on those heights; what, then, was the meaning of that light?
And then on every hand, at Pont-Maugis, Noyers, Frenois, other fires
arose, coruscating fitfully for an instant and giving mysterious
indication of the presence of the swarming host that lay hidden in the
bosom of the night. Yet more: there were strange sounds and voices in
the air, subdued murmurings such as she had never heard before, and
that made her start in terror; the stifled hum of marching men, the
neighing and snorting of steeds, the clash of arms, hoarse words of
command, given in guttural accents; an evil dream of a demoniac crew,
a witch's sabbat, in the depths of those unholy shades. Suddenly a
single cannon-shot rang out, ear-rending, adding fresh terror to the
dead silence that succeeded it. It froze her very marrow; what could
it mean? A signal, doubtless, telling of the successful completion of
some movement, announcing that everything was ready, down there, and
that now the sun might rise.

It was about two o'clock when Henriette, forgetting even to close her
window, at last threw herself, fully dressed, upon her bed. Her
anxiety and fatigue had stupefied her and benumbed her faculties. What
could ail her, thus to shiver and burn alternately, she who was always
so calm and self-reliant, moving with so light a step that those about
her were unconscious of her existence? Finally she sank into a fitful,
broken slumber that brought with it no repose, in which was present
still that persistent sensation of impending evil that filled the
dusky heavens. All at once, arousing her from her unrefreshing stupor,
the firing commenced again, faint and muffled in the distance, not a
single shot this time, but peal after peal following one another in