The major gave him still further food for anxiety by adding that some officers whom he had met at the Hotel de l’Europe were talking of making a sortie _en masse_ just before daylight. An extremely excited state of feeling had prevailed since the tenor of the German demands had become known, and measures the most extravagant were proposed and discussed. No one seemed to be deterred by the consideration that it would be dishonorable to break the truce, taking advantage of the darkness and giving the enemy no notification, and the wildest, most visionary schemes were offered; they would resume the march on Carignan, hewing their way through the Bavarians, which they could do in the black night; they would recapture the plateau of Illy by a surprise; they would raise the blockade of the Mézières road, or, by a determined, simultaneous rush, would force the German lines and throw themselves into Belgium. Others there were, indeed, who, feeling the hopelessness of their position, said nothing; they would have accepted any terms, signed any paper, with a glad cry of relief, simply to have the affair ended and done with. “Good-night!” Bouroche said in conclusion. “I am going to try to sleep a couple of hours; I need it badly.” When left by himself Delaherche could hardly breathe. What, could it be true that they were going to fight again, were going to burn and raze Sedan! It was certainly to be, soon as the morrow’s sun should be high enough upon the hills to light the horror of the sacrifice. And once again he almost unconsciously climbed the steep ladder that led to the roofs and found himself standing among the chimneys, at the edge of the narrow terrace that overlooked the city; but at that hour of the night the darkness was intense and he could distinguish absolutely nothing amid the swirling waves of the Cimmerian sea that lay beneath him. Then the buildings of the factory below were the first objects which, one by one, disentangled themselves from the shadows and stood out before his vision in indistinct masses, which he had no difficulty in recognizing: the engine-house, the shops, the drying rooms, the storehouses, and when he reflected that within twenty-four hours there would remain of that imposing block of buildings, his fortune and his pride, naught save charred timbers and crumbling walls, he overflowed with pity for himself. He raised his glance thence once more to the horizon, and sent it traveling in a circuit around that profound, mysterious veil of blackness behind which lay slumbering the menace of the morrow. To the south, in the direction of Bazeilles, a few quivering little flames that rose fitfully on the air told where had been the site of the unhappy village, while toward the north the farmhouse in the wood of la Garenne, that had been fired late in the afternoon, was burning still, and the trees about were dyed of a deep red with the ruddy blaze. Beyond the intermittent flashing of those two baleful fires no light to