"Well?" "Well," was the reply in a hollow whisper, in the midst of the street encumbered with blackened beams of wood. "Have you suffered much?" "Ah! yes." This was enough: no need for another word; and then we would proceed farther. At every street corner a new scene of horror began. Catherine and I were seeking Jacob; no doubt Gredel was looking for Jean Baptiste. We saw our poor Mobiles passing by, scarcely recognizable after those five months. All through the fearful cold these unhappy men had had nothing on but their summer blouses and linen trousers. Many of them might have escaped and gained their villages, for the gates had stood open since the evening before; but not a man thought of doing so; it was not supposed that Mobiles would be treated like regular soldiers. On the _place_, in front of the fallen church filled with its own ruins, we heard, for the first time, that the garrison were prisoners of war. The cafes Vacheron, Meyer, and Hoffmann, riddled with balls, were swarming with officers. We were gazing, not knowing whom to ask after Jacob, when a cry behind us made us turn round; and there was Gredel in the arms of Jean Baptiste Werner! Then I kept silence; my wife also. Since she would have it so, well, so let it be; this matter concerned her much more than it did us. Jean Baptiste, after the first moment, looked embarrassed at seeing us; he approached us with a pale face, and as we spoke not a word to him, George shook him by the hand, and cried: "Jean Baptiste, I know that you have behaved well during this siege; we have learned it all with pleasure: didn't we, Christian? didn't we, Catherine?" What answer could we make? I said "yes"--and mother, with tears in her eyes, cried: "Jean Baptiste, is Jacob not wounded?" "No, Madame Weber; we have always been very comfortable together. There is nothing the matter. I'll fetch him: only come in somewhere." "We are going to the Cafe Hoffmann," said she. "Try to find him, Jean Baptiste." And as he was turning in the direction of the mayoralty-house: "There," said he, "there he is coming round the corner by the chemist Rebe's shop." And we began, to cry "Jacob!" And our lad ran, crossing the _place_. A minute after, we were in each other's arms. He had on a coarse soldier's cloak, and canvas trousers; his cheeks were hollow; he stared at us, and stammered: "Oh, is it you? You are not all dead?" He looked stupefied; and his mother, holding him, murmured: "It is he!" She would not relinquish her hold upon him, and wiped her eyes with her apron. Gredel and Jean Baptiste followed arm-in-arm, with George and Marie Anne. We entered the Cafe Hoffmann together; we sat round a table in the room at the left, and George ordered some coffee, for we all felt the need of a little warmth. None of us wished to speak; we were downcast, and held each other by the hand, gazing in each other's faces.