Then, Fritz, money, the blockade, the famine, the general desolation--all were forgotten. I hardly saw the sergeant open our door every morning, and look in, asking: "Well, Father Moses, well?" I did not know what he said; I paid no attention to him. But, what I always think of with pleasure, what I am always proud of, is that, in the midst of all this trouble, when Sorlé, Zeffen, myself, and everybody were beside ourselves, when we forgot all about our business, and let everything go, little Sâfel at once took charge of our shop. Every morning we heard him rise at six o'clock, go down, open, the warehouse, take up one or two pitchers of brandy, and begin to serve the customers. No one had said a word to him about it, but Sâfel had a genius for trade. And if anything could console a father in such troubles, it would be to see himself, as it were, living over again in so young a child, and to say to himself: "At least the good race is not extinct; it still remains to preserve common-sense in the world." Yes, it is the only consolation which a man can have. Our _schabesgoïé_ did the work in the kitchen, and old Lanche helped us watch, but Sâfel took the charge of the shop; his mother and I thought of nothing but our little David. He died in the night of the eighteenth of March, the day when the fire broke out in Captain Cabanier's house. That same night two shells fell upon our house; the blindage made them roll into the court, where they both burst, shattering the laundry windows and demolishing the butcher's door, which fell down at once with a fearful crash. It was the most powerful bombardment since the blockade began, for, as soon as the enemy saw the flame ascending, they fired from Mittelbronn, from the Barracks, and the Fiquet lowlands, to prevent its being extinguished. I stayed all the while with Sorlé, near the babe's bed, and the noise of the bursting shells did not disturb us. The unhappy do not cling to life; and then the child was so sick! There were blue spots all over his body. The end was drawing near. I walked the room. Without they were crying "Fire! Fire!" People passed in the street like a torrent. We heard those returning from the fire telling the news, the engines hurrying by, the soldiers ranging the crowd in the line, the shells bursting at the right and left. Before our windows the long trails of red flame descended upon the roofs in front, and shattered the glass of the windows. Our cannon all around the city replied to the enemy. Now and then we heard the cry: "Room! Room!" as the wounded were carried away. Twice some pickets came up into my room to put me in the line, but, on seeing me sitting with Sorlé by our child, they went down again.