Another officer entered, an old man, covered to the eyes by his crimson gold-brocaded cap. Two more followed.
"There is a sick person here," said Jack. "You cannot have the intention of turning her out! It is inhuman--"
He stopped short, stupefied at the sight of the old officer, who now stood bareheaded in the lantern-light, looking at the bed where Lorraine lay. It was the Emperor!--her father.
Slowly the Emperor advanced to the bed, his dreary eyes fixed on Lorraine's pale cheeks.
In the silence the cries from the street outside rose clear and distinct: "Vive la République! À bas l'Empereur!"
The Emperor spoke, looking straight at Lorraine: "Gentlemen, we cannot disturb a woman. Pray find another house."
After a moment the officers began to back out, one by one, through the doorway. The Emperor still stood by the bed, his vague, inscrutable eyes fixed on Lorraine.
Jack moved towards the bed, trembling. The Emperor raised his colourless face.
"Monsieur--your sister? No--your wife?"
"My promised wife, sire," muttered Jack, cold with fear.
"A child," said the Emperor, softly.
With a vague gesture he stepped nearer, smoothed the coverlet, bent closer, and touched the sleeping girl's forehead with his lips. Then he stood up, gray-faced, impassive.
"I am an old man," he said, as though to himself. He looked at Jack, who now came close to him, holding out something in one hand. It was the steel box.
"For me, monsieur?" asked the Emperor.
Jack nodded. He could not speak.
The Emperor took the box, still looking at Jack.
There was a moment's silence, then Jack spoke: "It may be too late. It is a plan of a balloon--we brought it to you from Lorraine--"
The uproar in the streets drowned his voice--"Mort à l'Empereur! À bas l'Empire!"
A staff-officer opened the door and peered in; the Emperor stepped to the threshold.
"I thank you--I thank you both, my children," he said. His eyes wandered again towards the bed; the cries in the street rang out furiously.
"Mort à l'Empereur!"
The Sister of Mercy was kneeling by the bed; Jack shivered, and dropped his head.
When he looked up the Emperor had gone.
All night long he watched at the bedside, leaning on his elbow, one hand shading his eyes from the candle-flame. The Sister of Mercy, white and worn with the duties of that terrible day, slept upright in an arm-chair.
Dawn brought the sad notes of Prussian trumpets from the ramparts pealing through the devastated city; at sunrise the pavements rang and shook with the trample of the White Cuirassiers. A Saxon infantry band burst into the "Wacht am Rhine" at the Paris Gate; the Place Turenne vomited Uhlans. Jack sank down by the bed, burying his face in the sheets.