Jacques heard these words, and saw the glance of tender gratitude which shone from those uplifted eyes. Saw it, and the great heart in his bosom gave one leap and was still, like an eagle shot through the breast. “Oh, take me, take me with you,” pleaded an old voice, quivering with pathetic pain. “Let me go with you, Marguerite, for I have no one else in the world now.” It was Dame Doudel, who had come out of her fainting fit, and crept toward the only faces she knew. “Take care of her, she needs help more than I do,” said the girl, withdrawing herself from the arm that supported her. “I will do that.” Monsieur Jacques’ voice was harsh with agony as he said this, but he saw Marguerite draw back to that beloved shelter, and gave no other sign of the war within him. CHAPTER LXII. THE PRISONER AT HOME. They were together at last, that weary old man, his wife and child. That crowd of women had brought him to the door of his home, and set him down on its threshold. When he saw the steep flight of stairs, stretching darkly upwards, a look of bewilderment and dismay came to his face. He had forgotten their uses. So those triumphant furies carried him up in their arms and would have laid him on the bed, but he struggled away from them, and creeping into a corner, laid his face against the wall, as if he felt some comfort in its coldness. Then the women went away in search of better work than the caring for an old, worn out man. Madame Gosner aroused him; she carried a plate of soup in her hand, and when he sat up on the floor, held a spoonful to his mouth; but lifting his terrified eyes to her face, as if she were something to dread, he refused it, with a look of gentle repugnance. “He is dazed with the noise, they have killed him with their violence,” said Marguerite in a passion of grief. “Oh father, will you eat nothing?” She brought him fruit and wine. He seemed pleased with their rich colors, but refused to touch them. All at once the girl bethought herself and got an earthen pitcher full of water and some black bread. His eyes brightened. He looked at this food wistfully, and when she turned her back, began to eat. Marguerite sat down on the floor beside her father. She broke his bread and held the water to his lips. Then he began to smile and lying down by the wall again, dropped into a broken sleep.