Terrified, turning her head from side to side, Lorraine stretched out her hands. She tried to speak, but her ears were filled with the deep voices shouting the splendid battle-hymn-"Fly, Eagle! fly! With us is God!"
She crept out of bed, her bare feet white with cold, her bare arms flushed and burning. Blinded by the blaze of the rising sun, she felt her way around the room, calling, "Jack! Jack!" The window was open; she crept to it. The street was a surging, scintillating torrent of steel.
"God with us!"
The White Cuirassiers shook their glittering sabres; the melancholy trumpet's blast swept skyward; the standards flapped. Suddenly the stony street trembled with the outcrash of drums; the cuirassiers halted, the steel-mailed squadrons parted right and left; a carriage drove at a gallop through the opened ranks. Lorraine leaned from the window; the officer in the carriage looked up.
As the fallen Emperor's eyes met Lorraine's, she stretched out both little bare arms and cried: "Vive la France!"--and he was gone to his captivity, the White Cuirassiers galloping on every side.
The Sister of Mercy opened the door behind, calling her.
"He is dying," she said. "He is in here. Come quickly!"
Lorraine turned her head. Her eyes were sweet and serene, her whole pale face transfigured.
"He will live," she said. "I am here."
"It is the pest!" muttered the Sister.
Lorraine glided into the hall and unclosed the door of the silent room.
He opened his eyes.
"There is no death!" she whispered, her face against his. "There is neither death nor sorrow nor dying."
The clamour in the street died out; the wind was still; the pest flag under the window hung motionless.
He sighed; his eyes closed.
She stretched out beside him, her body against his, her bare arms around his neck.
His heart fluttered; stopped; fluttered; was silent; moved once again; ceased.
"Jack!"
Again his heart stirred--or was it her own?
When the morning sun broke over the ramparts of Sedan she fell asleep in his arms, lulled by the pulsations of his heart.