Four o'clock was striking from one of the steeples of Sedan. The morning twilight was breaking, dim, undecided in the dun-coloured mist. It was impossible to see anything; she could no longer distinguish even the college buildings a few yards away. Where were they firing, good heavens? Her first thought was for her brother, Maurice, for the reports were so deadened by the fog that they seemed to her to come from the north, right over the town. Then, however, it appeared certain that the firing was in front of her, and she trembled for her husband. Yes, the firing was undoubtedly at Bazeilles. For a few moments, however, she felt reassured, for it seemed to her, every now and then, as though the reports were, after all, coming from her right. Perhaps they were fighting at Donchery, where the bridge, as she was aware, had not been blown up. And now the most frightful perplexity took possession of her--were they firing from Donchery or from Bazeilles? It was impossible for her to tell, there was such a continuous buzzing in her ears. At last her anguish of mind became so acute that she felt unable to remain waiting there any longer. She quivered with an unrestrainable desire to know the truth at once, and throwing a shawl over her shoulders she went out in search of information. She hesitated for a moment as she reached the Rue des Voyards down below, for the town still seemed so black in the opaque fog that enveloped it. The morning twilight had not yet reached the damp pavement between the smoky old house-fronts. The only persons she perceived as she went along the Rue au Beurre were two drunken Turcos with a girl, inside a low tavern where a candle was flickering. She had to turn into the Rue Maqua to find some animation--soldiers whose shadows glided furtively along the footways: cowards, possibly, in search of a hiding place; together with a big cuirassier who had lost himself, and who knocked at each door he came to, searching for his captain; and there was also a stream of civilians, perspiring with fear at the idea that they had so long delayed their departure, and packing themselves closely in carts, to see if there were still time to get to Bouillon in Belgium, whither half of Sedan had been emigrating for two days past.