Then he remembered that the Germans were bombarding the left bank, and he felt a sudden impulse to roam the streets under the rain of iron. A voice hailed him, issuing from underground: "Is it you, my lad? Come in quick; you've given me a fine fright. Come down here; we are settled in the cellars." He followed his father and found beds arranged in the underground chambers, while the main cellar served as kitchen and sitting-room. The bookbinder had a map, and was pointing out to the _concierge_ and tenants the position of the relieving armies. Aunt Servien sat in a dim corner, her eyes fixed in a dull stare, mumbling bits of biscuit soaked in wine. She had no notion of what was happening, but maintained an attitude of suspicion. The little assemblage, which had been living this subterranean life since the evening of the day before, asked what news young Servien brought. Then the bookbinder resumed the explanations which as an old soldier and a responsible man he had been asked to give the company. "The thing to do is," he continued, "to join hands with the Army of the Loire, piercing the circle of iron that shuts us in. Admiral La Roncière has carried the positions at Épinay away beyond Longjumeau----" Then turning to Jean: "My lad, just find me Longjumeau on the map; my eyes are not what they were at twenty, and these tallow candles give a very poor light." At that moment a tremendous explosion shook the solid walls and filled the cellar with dust. The women screamed; the porter went off to make his round of inspection, tapping the walls with his heavy keys; an enormous spider scampered across the vaulted roof. Then the conversation was resumed as if nothing had happened, and two of the lodgers started a game of cards on an upturned cask. Jean was dog-tired and fell asleep on the floor--a nightmare sleep. "Has the little lad come home?" asked Aunt Servien, still sucking at her biscuit. XXXI Old Servien, in his working jacket, stepped up to the bed; then, creeping away again on tip-toe: "He is asleep, Monsieur Garneret, he is asleep. The doctor tells us he is saved. He is a very good doctor! _You_ know that yourself, for he is your friend, and it was you brought him here. You have been our saviour, Monsieur Garneret." And the bookbinder turned his head away to wipe his eyes, walked across to the window, lifted the curtain and looked out into the sunlit street. "The fine weather will quite set him up again. But we have had six terrible weeks. I never lost heart; it is not in the nature of things that a father should despair of his son's life; still, you know, Monsieur Garneret, he has been very ill. "The neighbours have been very good to us; but it was a hard job nursing him in this cursed cellar. Just think, Monsieur Garneret, for twenty days we had to keep his head in ice." "You know that is the treatment for meningitis."