"Who was disagreeably surprised by the fall of Sedan? It was Casimir, poor old Casimir! Five thousand _louis_ to pay by the fifth of September, and not the first sou, no, not the first sou. I take my hat and my courage and go to the Tuileries. No more Emperor there, no! But the Empress was so kind. I found her alone--ah, people scatter quickly under such circumstances!--alone, with a senator, M. Mérimée, the only literary man I have ever known who was at the same time a man of the world. 'Madame,' he was saying to her, 'you must give up all hope. M. Thiers, whom I just met on the _Pont Royal_, would listen to nothing.' "'Madame,' I said in my turn, 'Your Majesty always will know where her true friends are.' "And I kissed her hand. "_Evohé, que les déesses Out de drôles de façons Pour enjôler, pour enjôler, pour enjôler les gaâarçons_! "I returned to my home in the Rue de Lille. On the way I encountered the rabble going from the _Corps Législatif_ to the Hotel de Ville. My mind was made up. "'Madame,' I said to my wife, 'my pistols.' "'What is the matter?' she asked, frightened. "'All is lost. But there is still a chance to preserve my honor. I am going to be killed on the barricades.' "'Ah! Casimir,' she sobbed, falling into my arms. 'I have misjudged you. Will you forgive me?' "'I forgive you, Aurelie,' I said with dignified emotion. 'I have not always been right myself.' "I tore myself away from this mad scene. It was six o'clock. On the Rue de Bac, I hailed a cab on its mad career. "'Twenty francs tip,' I said to the coachman, 'if you get to the _Gare de Lyon_ in time for the Marseilles train, six thirty-seven.'" The Hetman of Jitomir could say no more. He had rolled over on the cushions and slept with clenched fists. I walked unsteadily to the great window. The sun was rising, pale yellow, behind the sharp blue mountains. XIV HOURS OF WAITING It was at night that Saint-Avit liked to tell me a little of his enthralling history. He gave it to me in short installments, exact and chronological, never anticipating the episodes of a drama whose tragic outcome I knew already. Not that he wished to obtain more effect that way--I felt that he was far removed from any calculation of that sort! Simply from the extraordinary nervousness into which he was thrown by recalling such memories. One evening, the mail from France had just arrived. The letters that Chatelain had handed us lay upon the little table, not yet opened. By the light of the lamp, a pale halo in the midst of the great black desert, we were able to recognize the writing of the addresses. Oh! the victorious smile of Saint-Avit when, pushing aside all those letters, I said to him in a trembling voice: "Go on." He acquiesced without further words.