At La Courneuve the pair went into an empty house to divide the money. Truth compels me to state that the division was honourably made, and little Stenne did not feel his crime weigh so heavily on his mind when he heard the coins jingling in his pocket, and thought of the prospective games of _galoche_! But--unhappy child!--when he was left alone! When, after they had passed the gate, and his companion had left him--oh, then his pocket weighed heavily, and the hand which pressed upon his heart was hard indeed! Paris was no longer the same. The people passing looked at him severely, as if they were aware of his mission. The word _spy_ seemed to ring in his ears, and he heard it above the din of carriages, and in the rolling of the drums along the canal. At length he reached home, and was very glad to find that his father had not yet come in. He hurried upstairs to his room to hide the crowns which had become so burdensome to him. Never had Father Stenne been in such spirits, never in such good humour, as on that evening when he returned home. News had come in from the provinces: things were going better. As he ate his supper the old soldier gazed at his musket which was hanging on the wall, and exclaimed: "Hey, my lad, how you would go at the Prussians if you were big enough!" About eight o'clock the sound of cannon was heard. "That's Aubervilliers; they are fighting at Bourget," said the good old man, who knew all the forts. Little Stenne turned pale, and feigning fatigue went to bed, but not to sleep. The thunder of the cannon continued. He pictured to himself the Franc-tireurs marching in the darkness to surprise the Prussians, and falling into an ambuscade themselves. He recalled the sergeant who had smiled, and pictured him, with many others, extended lifeless on the snow. The price of all this blood was then under his pillow, and he--he, the son of M. Stenne, a soldier--what had he done? Tears choked him. He could hear his father walking about in the next room; he heard him open the window. In the Place below the _rappel_ was being beaten; a battalion of mobiles was mustering. Yes it was a real battle--no mistake about it! The unhappy lad could not repress his sobs. "Why, what's the matter?" cried Father Stenne, coming into the bedroom. The lad could bear it no longer; he jumped out of bed, and was about to throw himself at his father's feet when the silver coins rolled out upon the floor. "What's this? Have you robbed anyone?" asked the old soldier in a tremulous voice. Then, all in a breath, little Stenne told him how he had gone to the Prussian lines and what he had done. As he continued to speak the weight on his heart grew less--it was a relief to accuse himself. Father Stenne listened; his face was terrible to see. When the lad had finished his narrative the old man buried his face in his hands and wept aloud. [Illustration: "OH, FATHER! FATHER!"] "Oh, father! father!"--