A minute later Arnold Dampierre and Minette were pronounced man and wife, and signed the register, Martin Dufaure, Cuthbert, and the various deputies present signing as witnesses. A fiacre had been called up, and was in readiness at the door. Cuthbert assisted Arnold to take his place in it.

"If I were you, Arnold," he whispered, "I would go to the old lodgings; of course they are still vacant; if you prefer it, you can take mine, I still keep them on though I have moved for a time. It will be better for you in every way not to be up here at Montmartre."

"Thank you; it would anyhow be quieter. Will you tell the coachman where to drive?"

"I will go on the box," Cuthbert said, "of course Dufaure will go with you." He told the Communist what they had decided on.

"That will be best," he agreed; "this is not a quiet quarter at present. What with drumming and drinking, it is not a place for a wounded man."

"You had better go inside with them, and I will go on the box," Cuthbert said, "keep Minette talking, it will prevent her breaking down, it has been a terrible shock for her."

The landlady was heartily glad to see Dampierre back again. Cuthbert and the Communist assisted the wounded man to bed.

"I will see about getting things in at present," Cuthbert said, "so do not worry over that, Minette; if everything goes well he will be about again in a few days, but keep him quiet as long as you can, I will come in to-morrow and see how he is getting on."

After going round to a restaurant and ordering meals to be sent in regularly, with some bottles of wine for Martin Dufaure's benefit, Cuthbert returned to Passy.



CHAPTER XXIV.

Mary was greatly shocked upon hearing the tragic circumstances that had occurred at the wedding.

"Who is the man that fired, Cuthbert?"

"His name is Jean Diantre. I heard from Dufaure that he has been a lover of Minette's; he said she had never given him any encouragement, but acknowledged that he himself believed she might have taken him at last if she had not met Dampierre. He said that he had been uneasy for some time, for the man had become so moody and savage that he had feared ill would come of it. He was the same man who nearly stabbed me three months ago, taking me for Dampierre."

"It is shocking to think that you have killed a man, Cuthbert."

"It may be shocking to you, Mary, but the matter does not weigh on my conscience at all. In the first place I had no idea of killing him, and in the second, if I had not hit hard and quickly he would have fired again and killed Arnold; lastly, I regard these Communists as no better than mad dogs, and the chances are ten to one that he would have been shot at the barricades, or afterwards, if he had not died when he did."

"It is all very terrible," Mary sighed.

"It has all been terrible from beginning to end, Mary, but as hundreds of men are killed every day, and there will probably be thousands shot when the troops enter Paris, I cannot regard the death of a would-be murderer as a matter that will weigh on my mind for a moment. And now what has been going on here? I hardly had time to notice whether the firing was heavy."

"It has been tremendous," she said. "Several houses have been struck and set on fire lower down but no shells have come this way."

"I have no doubt the troops imagine that all the houses down near Pont du Jour, are crowded with Communists in readiness to repel any assault that might be made. The army is doubtless furious at the destruction of the Column of Vendome, which was in commemoration, not only of Napoleon, but of the victories won by French armies. Moreover, I know from newspapers that have been brought in from outside, and which I have seen at the cafe, that they are incensed to the last degree by being detained here, when but for this insurrection, they would have been given a furlough to visit their families when they returned from the German prisons. So that I can quite understand the artillerymen taking a shot occasionally at houses they believe to be occupied by the insurgents.

"You may be sure of one thing, and that is that very little quarter will be shown to the Communists by the troops. Even now, I cannot but hope, that seeing the impossibility of resisting many days longer, and the certainty of a terrible revenge if the troops have to fight their way through the streets, the Communists will try to surrender on the best terms they can get. Thiers has all along shown such extreme unwillingness to force the fighting, that I am sure he would give far better terms than they could have any right to expect, rather than that Paris should be the scene of a desperate struggle, and, if the Communists fulfil their threats, of wholesale destruction and ruin."

Two more days passed. Cuthbert went down each day to his old lodging and found that Arnold was doing well. On the second day, indeed, he was out of bed with his arm in a sling and sitting partly dressed in an easy-chair. Martin Dufaure had left that morning for his own lodging, having slept for the last two nights on the sofa. Minette had made everything about the rooms tidy and fresh, the windows were open, and the distant roar of the bombardment could be plainly heard. She had a white handkerchief tied over her head, a neat, quiet dress, and was playing the role of nurse to perfection. Cuthbert had been round to Monsieur Goude and had told him what had happened, and he had the evening before dropped in for a talk with Arnold.

"I am getting on wonderfully, Cuthbert," Arnold said, on the latter's second visit. "Of course it is trying to be sitting here incapable of taking a part in what is going on."

"You have taken quite enough part, Arnold, and I own I think your wound at the present moment is a fortunate one, for it will keep you out of mischief. When the surgeon comes next I should strongly advise you to get him to write you a certificate certifying that you have been wounded by a pistol ball, so that if, as is probable, there will sooner or later be a general search for Communists, you can prove that your injury was not received in the fighting outside the walls, and you can refer to Goude and me as to the fact that you are an art student here. Both documents had better be made out in another name than your own, for, unfortunately, yours has been rendered familiar to them by the frequent notices of your doings and speeches in the papers here."

"I will see about it," Arnold said; "I do not know that I can bring myself to that."

"You will be very foolish and wrong not to do so, Arnold. You are a married man now, and have your wife to think about as well as yourself. You may be sure that there is not a single leader of the insurrection here who will not endeavor to escape under a false name; besides, even granting that, as you believe, the cause is a righteous one, you certainly cannot benefit it in the slightest by sacrificing your life. Your wife was a Communist Vivandiere a few days ago, now she is a quiet little wife nursing a sick husband." Glancing at Minette he saw an angry flush on her face, and a look of dogged determination; he made no remark, however, and after chatting with Arnold for some time returned to Passy.

"That woman will bring destruction on them both or I am mistaken," he said to Mary; "fond as she may be of Dampierre, her enthusiasm for the Commune will take her from his side when the last struggle begins. Do you know, Mary, my presentiments about her have turned out marvellously correct." He opened his sketch-book. "Look at that," he said; "at the time I sketched it she was poised as a Spanish dancer, and had castanets in her hand; the attitude is precisely that in which she stood as a model, but it struck me at the moment that a knife would be more appropriate to her than a castanet, and you see I drew her so, and that is the precise attitude she stood in, dagger in hand, when I caught her wrist and prevented her from stabbing the man at her feet."

"Don't show them to me, Cuthbert, it frightens me when you talk of her."

"You must remember that she is a mixture, Mary; she is like a panther, as graceful, and as supple; a charming beast when it purrs and rubs itself against the legs of its keeper, terrible when, in passion, it hurls itself upon him. In the early days the students were, to a man, fascinated with her. I stood quite alone in my disapproval. Seeing her as I saw her to-day, I admit that she is charming, but I cannot forget her fury as she bounded, knife in hand, upon the man I had knocked down. Listen! do your hear that rattle of musketry down by Pont du Jour? The troops must be working their way up towards the gate. Possibly, it is the beginning of the end."

Presently a Communist, with a red sash, rode furiously past, and in a quarter of an hour returned with a battalion of National Guards who had been stationed near the Arc de Triomphe.

"Evidently, there is a some sharp business going on, Mary. It is hardly likely the troops can be attacking at this time of day, they would be sure to choose early morning, mass their forces under cover of darkness, and go at the gate at daybreak; still, there is no doubt from that musketry firing, they must be trying to establish themselves nearer the gate than before."

The batteries that had all day been playing upon Pont du Jour, had suddenly ceased firing, but the rattle of musketry in that direction continued as hotly as ever for another two hours, and a number of field-guns joined in the conflict on the side of the Communists.

"I really must go and find out what it is all about," Cuthbert said; "if I could get up near the Viaduct, I should be able to look down into the bastions at Pont du Jour."

"Don't be away long," Mary urged, "I shall be feeling very nervous till you get back."

"I won't be long; I shan't stay to watch the affair, but only just to find out what the situation is. The fact that the Communists have brought up Field Artillery, shows that it is something more than ordinary, although, why the batteries opposite should have ceased to play I cannot make out; they are hard at work everywhere else."

Cuthbert made his way towards the Viaduct, and as he approached it saw that some of the field-guns he had heard had been placed there, and that the parapet was lined with National Guards who were keeping up an incessant fire. Shells from Meudon and Fort Issy were bursting thickly over and near the bridge, and Cuthbert, seeing that he could not get further without being exposed to the fire, and might, moreover, get into trouble with the Communists, made his way down towards Pont du Jour. Several people were standing in shelter behind the wall of one of the villas.

"You had better not go farther," one of them said, "a shell burst twenty yards lower down a few minutes ago. Several of the villas are in flames, and bullets are flying about everywhere."

"What is going on, gentlemen?" Cuthbert asked, as he joined them.

"The troops have entered Pont du Jour."

"Impossible!" Cuthbert exclaimed, "the firing has been heavy, but no heavier than usual, and although the village is knocked to pieces, as I saw for myself yesterday, no great harm was done to the bastions."

"They have entered for all that," one of the gentlemen said. "Several wounded Communists have come along here, and they have all told the same story. Of course, they put it down to the treachery of their leaders, but at any rate, owing to the tremendous fire from the upper batteries and Issy, it was absolutely impossible to keep men in the bastions, and they were all withdrawn. A few were left in the houses and gardens, but the greater part fell back behind the Viaduct, which afforded them shelter. Somehow or other, the troops in the sap that had been pushed forward to within fifty yards of the gate must have come to the conclusion that the bastion was not tenanted, and trying the experiment, found themselves inside the wall without a shot having been fired. More must have followed them, at any rate a considerable force must have gathered there before the Communists found out they had entered. There can be no doubt that it was a surprise, and not a preconcerted movement, for the batteries continue to fire on the place for some time after they had entered.

"In a short time, small bodies of soldiers ran across the open where the shells were still bursting thickly, established themselves in the ruins of the village, and, as they received reinforcements, gradually worked their way forwards. The Communists have brought up strong forces, but so far, they have been unable to drive back the troops, and, of course, their chance of doing so grows less and less. We can hear heavy firing all along to the right, and it seems as if the troops were pushing forward all along the line from here to Neuilly. Thank God, the end of this terrible business is approaching, and by to-morrow morning we may see the troops in Passy, where there is scarce a soul but will welcome them with open arms. Our battalion of National Guards was one of the last to accept the orders of the Commune, and as it must be known in Versailles as well as in Paris, that this quarter is thoroughly loyal, we need fear no trouble. We are going back there with the news, for we can see nothing here, and if a battalion of Communists came along beaten, they would be as likely as not to vent their fury on all whom they see by their appearance and dress are likely to sympathize with the troops."

Cuthbert walked back with them to Passy.

"Good news," he exclaimed, as he entered the room, where Mary and the Michauds were standing at the open window; "the troops are masters of Point du Jour, and the Communists have tried in vain to drive them back. No doubt, at present, the whole French army is being brought up, in readiness to enter as soon as it is dark, and by to-morrow morning this part of the town at any rate may be clear of the Communists."

Exclamations of delight burst from the others. "I will run up to the roof," Cuthbert said, "there is heavy musketry fire going on all along this side, and one may get an idea how matters are going, but we may be sure that the Communists will all fall back upon the city as soon as they know the troops have entered here."

Mary went up with him, and they found the astronomer had already his telescope in position.

"I have good news for you, Monsieur," Cuthbert said; "the troops have entered Pont du Jour, and although the Communists are opposing them in great force, they are making their way forward. It has evidently been a surprise all round, and so far no great body of troops have been brought up, but no doubt they will soon be ready to advance in force."

"That is good news indeed. I have been watching Asnieres, and as far as I can make out a large body of troops have crossed the bridge there, and are skirmishing towards the enciente, and gradually driving back the Communists. They have advanced too from Neuilly and are pressing forward towards Porte Maillot. Mount Valerien seems to be firing at Montmartre."

Nightfall brought no cessation of the roar of cannon, and the roll of musketry seemed to be continuous, both from the left and right. Every window at Passy was lit up; there was a crowd of women at every shop where colored materials could be obtained, and in every house the females were engaged in sewing red, white, and blue stuff of every description to make the National tri-colored flags, in readiness to hang out when the troops came along. Occasionally adventurous boys and young men came in with scraps of news; the Viaduct had been carried before darkness set in, a heavy column of troops had captured a strong barricade across the road, and, following the bank of the river, had taken possession of the bridge of Grenelle. Another division turning to the left had carried the gas works, while a third had captured the Asylum of St. Perrine.

It was at the Trocadero that the insurgents were expected to make a stand in earnest. Here they had erected formidable works, and were reported to be hard at work mounting guns and mitrailleuses there. The troops, however, gave them no time to complete their preparations. A column entered a little before midnight by the gate of Passy, pushed on to the bridge of Jena, carried it after a sharp fight, and then charged at the double towards the heights of the Trocadero, where the Communists, taken completely by surprise, fled precipitously after a slight resistance, and at one o'clock in the morning the loyalists were in possession of this important position. At midnight another division entered at the Porte Maillot, and advancing took possession of the Arc de Triomphe.

At two o'clock the head of the French column came down the street. In an instant candles were placed at every window, flags were hung out, and the inhabitants poured into the street and welcomed their deliverers with shouts of joy. The troops piled their arms and fell out, and as soon as they did so, men and women brought out jugs of wine and provisions of all kinds. In half an hour the inhabitants were ordered to return to their houses, and the troops wrapping themselves in their blankets laid down in the roadway to get two or three hours, sleep before the heavy work expected in the morning. At five they were on their feet again. Already the din of battle had recommenced. At daybreak Bruat's division crossed the Seine by the Viaduct, kept along the left bank, drove the insurgents from the great iron foundry of Cail, and entered the Champs de Mars.

The Communists fought stubbornly here, but a corps was sent round to turn their position, and seeing their retreat threatened, they broke and fled, and the Ecole Militaire was taken possession of without further resistance. General Cissey's division entered by the gate of Mont Rouge, where the Communists, threatened in the rear by Bruat's advance, fell back at their approach. Moving along the Boulevard Mont Rouge they came upon very strong and formidable barricades, defended by six cannon and mitrailleuses, supported by musketry fire from the houses. The position was so strong that even with the assistance of the artillery Cissey was unable to advance farther in this direction.

Bruat's division met with strong opposition at the Cartridge Factory in the Avenue Rapp, and the Reds were only driven out at last by artillery being brought up, and shelling them out. After this Bruat pushed on, captured and occupied without resistance the Invalides, and the Palais Legislatif, opposite the Place de la Concorde.

On the right bank the troops advanced from the Arc de Triomphe at the double and carried the Palais de L'Industrie after a short resistance. By mid-day the whole of the Champs Elysees as far as the barrier of the Place de la Concorde were in possession of the troops.

Late in the afternoon the division of General Clinchamp marched down on the Rue Faubourg St. Honore, came out upon the Boulevard and took possession of the Madeleine and the Grand Opera House. While these operations had been carried on the Communists, batteries on Montmartre had thrown shells over the whole area occupied by the troops, while Mont Valerien and the other batteries facing the western side maintained a heavy fire upon those of Montmartre.

Early in the morning all the members of the National Guard of Passy and Auteuil were summoned to arms and ordered to assist the troops, and were specially enjoined to maintain order in their rear as they advanced. Numbers of Communist prisoners were taken by the troops as they worked their way forward, and upwards of 8,000 were despatched under a strong escort to Versailles. The order for the National Guard to assemble was received with intense satisfaction, the younger and unmarried men had been forced into the ranks of the Communists, but many had during the last day or two slipped away and remained in hiding, and all were anxious to prove that it was loyalty and not cowardice that had caused them to desert.

Cuthbert was out all day watching, from points where he could obtain shelter from the flying bullets, the advance of the troops. When he returned he told Mary that everything was going on well so far, but he added, "The work is really only beginning; the barrier at the Place de la Concorde and the batteries on the terrace of the Tuileries are really formidable positions, and I hear that on the south side the advance has been entirely arrested by one of the barricades there. The Insurgents never intended to hold the outlying suburbs, and even the batteries on the Trocadero were built to aid the Forts and not for fighting inside the walls. You see every yard the troops gain now drives the Communists closer and closer together, and renders the defence more easy. It may be a week yet before the Commune is finally crushed. I should think that before the troops advance much further on this side they will storm Montmartre, whose batteries would otherwise take them in rear."

The next day three divisions marched against Montmartre, and attacked it simultaneously on three sides. The Communists here who had throughout the siege been the loudest and most vehement in their warlike demonstrations, now showed that at heart they were cowards. Although their batteries were armed with over a hundred guns, they offered but a momentary resistance and fled, panic-stricken, in every direction, some thousands being taken prisoners by the troops. On the other hand, throughout the rest of Paris, the fighting became more and more severe and desperate. The Northern Railway Station was defended successfully throughout the day. On the south side of the river but little progress was made by the troops, and they remained stationary also in the Champs Elysees, the barriers in front being too strong to be stormed without frightful loss. These, however, would be turned by the divisions who had captured Montmartre, and the troops descending by different routes to the Boulevard des Italiennes, worked their way along as far as the Porte St. Denis, and this threatened the flank of the defenders of the Place de la Concorde and the Tuileries.

The roar of fire was unbroken all day, the Forts, that had not yet fallen into the hands of the troops, bombarded all the quarters that had been captured, and were aided by powerful batteries at Belleville, at Vilette, and above all by those on the Buttes du Chaumont, where the Cemetery of Pere la Chaise had been converted into an entrenched camp, the positions here being defended by 20,000 of the best troops of Paris. In the western quarters things had resumed their normal state; the shops were opened, children played in the streets, and women gossipped at the doors, there were men about too, for the order for the reassembling of the National Guard of this quarter had been cancelled, having met with the strongest opposition in the Assembly at Versailles.

The astronomer downstairs turned out a very useful acquaintance, for hearing from Cuthbert, that he was extremely anxious to obtain a pass that would permit him to move about near the scenes of fighting without the risk of being seized and shot as a Communist, he said that he was an intimate friend of Marshal McMahon and should be glad to obtain a pass for him. On going to the quarters where the Marshal had established himself, he brought back an order authorizing Cuthbert Hartington, a British subject, to circulate everywhere in quarters occupied by the troops.

"It is too late to go down this evening, Mary," he said, "but I expect that to-morrow a great attack upon the positions round the Tuileries will take place, and I shall try and get somewhere where I can see without being in the line of fire. I will take care to run no risk, dear; you see my life is more precious to me now than it was when I joined the Franc tireurs des Ecoles."

It was difficult to stop quietly indoors when so mighty a struggle was going on almost within sight, and at ten o'clock in the evening he and Mary went out to the Trocadero. The flashes of fire from the Loyal and Communist batteries were incessant. Away on the south side was a constant flicker of musketry as Cissey's troops struggled with the defender of the barricades. An incessant fire played along the end of the Champs Elysees, flashed from the windows of the Tuileries and fringed the parapet of the south side of the river facing the Palais. Fires were blazing in various parts of Paris, the result of the bombardment. The city looked strangely dark, for the men at the gas works were for the most part fighting in the ranks of the insurgents. The sky was lined with sparks of fire moving in arcs and marking the course of the shell as they traversed to and fro from battery to battery, or fell on the city.

"It is a wonderful sight, Mary."

"Wonderful, but very terrible," she replied; "it is all very well to look at from here, but only think what it must be for those within that circle of fire."

"I have no pity for the Communists," Cuthbert said, "not one spark. They would not pull a trigger or risk a scratch for the defence of Paris against the Germans, now they are fighting like wild-cats against their countrymen. Look there," he exclaimed, suddenly, "there is a fire broken out close to the Place de la Concorde, a shell must have fallen there. I fancy it must be within the barricades, but none of the batteries on either side would have been likely to send a shell there at night, as it is so close to the line of division that the missile would be as likely to strike friend as foe."

Higher and higher mounted the flames, spreading as they went till a huge mass of fire lighted up all that part of Paris.

"It must be a great public building of some sort," Cuthbert said.

"See, another building is on fire a short distance away from it; look, Cuthbert, look is that the reflection of the flames in the windows of the Tuileries or is it on fire?

"It is fire," Cuthbert exclaimed after a minute's pause; "see the flames have burst through that window on the first floor. Good heavens, the Communists are carrying out their threat to lay Paris in ashes before they yield."

In five minutes all doubt was at an end, the flames were pouring out from every window on the first floor of the Palais, and it was evident the fire must have been lighted in a dozen places simultaneously.

By this time the Trocadero was thronged with spectators attracted by the light in the sky, and by the report that one of the public buildings was on fire; exclamations of fury and grief, and execrations upon the Communists rose everywhere, when it was seen that the Tuileries were in flames. From points at considerable distances from each other fresh outbreaks of fire took place. Most of those standing round were able to locate them, and it was declared that the Palace of the Court of Accounts, the Ministries of War and Finance, the palaces of the Legion of Honor and of the Council of State, the Prefecture of Police the Palace de Justice, the Hotel de Ville and the Palais Royale were all on fire. As the night went on the scene became more and more terrible. Paris was blazing in at least twenty places, and most of the conflagrations were upon an enormous scale. The scene was too fascinating and terrible to be abandoned, and it was not until the morning began to break that the spectators on the Trocadero returned to their homes.



CHAPTER XXV.

Armed with his pass Cuthbert started for the city at ten o'clock next morning. A dense pall of smoke hung over Paris. On the south side of the river the conflict was still raging, as it was also on the north and east, but the insurgents' shells were no longer bursting up the Champs Elysees and the firing had ceased at the Place de la Concorde. It was evident that the insurgents, after performing their work of destruction, had evacuated their position there. On reaching the bottom of the Champs Elysees he found that a breach had been made in the barricade and that a considerable number of troops were bivouacked in the Place de la Concorde itself.

The fire-engines from Versailles, St. Denis, and other places round were already at work, but their efforts seemed futile indeed in face of the tremendous bodies of fire with which they had to cope. Just as Cuthbert, after passing through the breach in the barricade, on the presentation of his pass to the sentries, arrived at the end of the Rue Rivoli, a mounted officer dashed up to the two engines at work opposite the building that had first been fired, and said—

"You can do no good here. Take your engines to the courtyard of the Tuileries and aid the troops in preventing the fire from spreading to the Louvre. That is the only place where there is any hope of doing good. Now, monsieur," he said to Cuthbert, "You must fall in and aid the Pompiers. The orders are that all able-bodied men are to help in extinguishing the fire."

Cuthbert was glad to be of use, and joining the firemen ran along with the engines down the Rue Rivoli and turned in with them into the courtyard of the palace. The western end, containing the State apartments, was a mass of fire from end to end, and the flames were creeping along both wings towards the Louvre. In the palace itself a battalion of infantry were at work. Some were throwing furniture, pictures and curtains through the window into the courtyard; others were hacking off doors and tearing up floors, while strong parties were engaged on the roofs in stripping off the slates and tearing down the beams and linings.

Other engines presently arrived, for telegrams had been sent off soon after the fires broke out to all the principal towns of France, and even to London, asking for engines and men to work them, and those from Amiens, Lille, and Rouen had already reached Paris by train.

After working for three hours Cuthbert showed his pass to the officer and was permitted to pass on, a large number of citizens being by this time available for the work, having been fetched from all the suburbs occupied by the troops. Before going very much farther Cuthbert was stopped by a line of sentries across the street.

"You cannot pass here," the officer in charge said, as Cuthbert produced his permit, "the island is still in the hands of the Communists, and the fire from their barricade across the bridge sweeps the street twenty yards farther on, and it would be certain death to show yourself there; besides, they are still in force beyond the Hotel de Ville. You can, of course, work round by the left, but I should strongly advise you to go no farther. There is desperate fighting going on in the Place de la Bastille. The insurgent batteries are shelling the Boulevards hotly, and, worst of all, you are liable to be shot from the upper windows and cellars. There are scores of those scoundrels still in the houses; there has been no time to unearth them yet, and a good many men have been killed by their fire."

"Thank you, sir. I will take your advice," Cuthbert said.

He found, indeed, that there was no seeing anything that was going on in the way of fighting without running great risks, and he accordingly made his way back to the Trocadero. Here he could see that a number of fires had broken out at various points since morning, even in the part of the town occupied by the troops; and though some of these might be caused by the Communists' shell it was more probable that they were the work of the incendiary. He had, indeed, heard from some of the citizens to whom he had spoken while at work at the pumps, that orders had been issued that all gratings and windows giving light to cellars, should be closed by wet sacks being piled against them, and should then be covered thickly with earth, as several women had been caught in the act of pouring petroleum into the cellars and then dropping lighted matches down upon it.

These wretches had been shot instantly, but the fresh fires continually springing up showed that the work was still going on.

It was strangely silent in the streets. With the exception of the sentries at every corner there were few persons indeed abroad. Many were looking from the windows, but few, indeed, ventured out. They knew not what orders had been given to the sentries and feared arrest were they to stir beyond their doors. Moreover, the occasional crash of a shell from the insurgent batteries, the whistling of bullets, and the frequent discharge of musket shots still kept up by groups of desperate Communists who had taken refuge in the houses, was sufficient alone to deter them from making any attempt to learn what was going on. But in the absence of footfalls in the street and of the sound of vehicles, the distant noises were strangely audible. The rustle of the flames at the Hotel de Ville and the great fires across the river, the crash of the falling roofs and walls, the incessant rattle of distant musketry, and the boom of cannon, formed a weird contrast to the silence that prevailed in the quarter. Cuthbert felt that he breathed more freely when he issued out again into the Champs Elysees.

The next day he did not go down. The advance continued, but progress was slow. On the following morning Paris was horrified by the news published in the papers at Versailles that statements of prisoners left no doubt that the Archbishop of Paris and many other priests, in all a hundred persons, had been massacred in cold blood, the methods of the first revolution being closely followed, and the prisoners made to walk out one by one from the gate of the prison, and being shot down as they issued out. Another statement of a scarcely less appalling nature was that the female fiends of the Commune not only continued their work of destruction by fire, but were poisoning the troops. Several instances of this occurred. In one case ten men were poisoned by one of these furies, who came out as they passed, and expressing joy at the defeat of the Commune, offered them wine. They drank it unsuspectingly, and within an hour were all dead. Orders, were consequently issued that no soldier should on any account accept drink or food of any kind offered them by women.

"This horrible massacre of the Archbishop and the other prisoners is next door to madness," Cuthbert said, as he read the account at breakfast. "The Communists could have no personal feeling of hostility against their victims, indeed, the Archbishop was, I know, most popular. Upon the other hand it seals the fate of thousands. The fury excited by such a deed will be so great that the troops will refuse to give quarter and the prisoners taken will have to suffer to the utmost for the crime committed by perhaps a handful of desperate wretches. The omnibuses began to run yesterday from Sevres, and I propose, Mary, that we go over to Versailles to-day and get out of sound of the firing. They say there are fully 20,000 prisoners there."

"I don't want to see the prisoners," Mary said, with a shudder. "I should like to go to Versailles, but let us keep away from horrors."

And so for a day they left the sound of battle behind, wandered together through the Park at Versailles, and carefully abstained from all allusion to the public events of the past six months. The next day Cuthbert returned to Paris and made his way down to the Place de la Bastille, where, for the sum of half a Napoleon, he obtained permission to ascend to the upper window of a house. The scene here was terrible. On the side on which he was standing a great drapery establishment, known as the Bon Marche, embracing a dozen houses, was in flames. In the square itself three batteries of artillery belonging to Ladmirault's Division, were sending their shell up the various streets debouching on the place.

Most of the houses on the opposite side were in flames. The insurgent batteries on the Buttes de Chaumont were replying to the guns of the troops. The infantry were already pressing their way upwards. Some of the barricades were so desperately defended that the method by which alone the troops on the south side had been able to capture these defences, was adopted; the troops taking possession of the houses and breaking their way with crow-bar and pick-axe through the party wall, and so, step by step, making their way along under cover until they approached the barricades, which they were then able to make untenable by their musketry fire from the windows. Cuthbert remained here for an hour or two, and then making a detour came out on the Boulevards higher up.

The Theatre of Porte St. Martin was in flames, as were many other buildings. A large number of troops with piled arms occupied the centre of the street, taking their turn to rest before they relieved their comrades in the work of assault. Presently he saw down a side street a party of soldiers with some prisoners. He turned down to see what was going on. The officer in command of the party came up to him.

"Monsieur has doubtless a pass," he said, politely.

Cuthbert produced it.

"Ah, you are English, monsieur. It is well for you that your country does not breed such wretches as these. Every one of them has been caught in the course of the last hour in the act of setting houses alight. They are now to be shot."

"It is an unpleasant duty, monsieur," Cuthbert said.

"It would be horrible at any other time," the officer said. "But we cannot consider these creatures as human beings. They are wild beasts and I verily believe the women are worse than the men. There is only one I would spare, though she is the worst of all. At every barricade where the fighting has been fiercest for the last four days she has been conspicuous. The troops got to know her by her red cap and dress. She has been seen to shoot down men who attempted to retire, and she has led a charmed life or she would have been killed a thousand times. When she was taken she had on an old dress over her red one, and a hideous bonnet in place of the cap. She was caught just as she had dropped a lighted match into a cellar. The flames flashed up at once, and two soldiers near ran up and arrested her. She stabbed one, but the other broke her wrist with a blow from the butt of his musket.

"Then came a curious thing. A man who had been standing in a doorway on the opposite side of the street ran out and declared that he was a sharer in her crime. His air was that of a madman, and the men would have pushed him away, but he exclaimed, 'I am Arnold Dampierre, one of the leaders of the Commune. This is my wife.' Then the woman said, 'The man is mad. I have never seen him before. I know Arnold Dampierre everyone knows him. He does not resemble this man, whose proper place is a lunatic asylum.' So they contended, and both were brought before the drumhead Court Martial.

"The man had so wild an air that we should not have believed his story, but on his being searched his American passport was found upon him. Then the woman threw herself into his arms. 'We will die together then!' she said. 'I would have saved you if you would have let me.' Then she turned to us. 'Yes, I am guilty. I have fought against you on the barricades,' and she tore off her outer dress and bonnet. 'I have kindled twenty fires, but in this I am guilty alone. He stood by me on the barricades, but he would have nothing to do with firing houses. But I am a Parisian. I am the daughter of Martin Dufaure, who was killed an hour since, and my duty was to the Commune first, and to my husband afterwards. I hate and despise you slaves of tyrants. You have conquered us but we have taught a lesson to the men who fatten on our suffering.'

"Of course they were both ordered to be shot. I have given them all five minutes, but the time is up. Range them by the wall, men," he said, turning to the soldiers.

Cuthbert glanced for a moment and then turned away. The other women were mostly old, or at least middle-aged, and they stood scowling at the soldiers, and some of them pouring out the foulest imprecations upon them.

Minette stood in the centre of the line conspicuous by her red dress. One hand grasped that of Arnold, who was gazing upon her as if oblivious to all else. Her head was held erect and she looked at her executioners with an air of proud defiance.

Cuthbert hurried away, filled with an intense feeling of pity and regret. He heard Minette cry in a loud clear voice, "Vive la Commune!" Then there was a sharp volley and all was over, and a minute later the soldiers passed him on the way to join their comrades.

He stood for a time at the corner of the street irresolute. He had seen scores of dead in the streets. He had thought he could see nothing worse than he had witnessed, but he felt that he could not go back, as he had first thought of doing, to the scene of execution. Comrades had fallen by his side in the fight at Champigny, but he had not felt for them as for this comrade who lay behind him, or for the girl who, with her talents, might have had a bright future before her had she been thrown amid other surroundings. He wondered whether he could obtain their bodies for burial.

It did not seem to him possible. Vehicles could not be obtained at any price. The very request would seem suspicious, and suspicion at that hour was enough to condemn a man unheard. The difficulties in the way would be enormous. Indeed, it would matter nothing. Arnold and Minette. They had fallen together and would lie together in one of the great common graves in which the dead would be buried. It would be little short of a mockery to have the burial service read over her, and had Arnold been consulted he would have preferred to lie beside her to being laid in a grave apart.

So after a pause of five minutes Cuthbert moved away without venturing a single look back at the group huddled down by the wall, but walked away feeling crushed and overwhelmed by the untimely fate that had befallen two persons of whom he had seen so much during the past year, and feeling as feeble as he did when he first arose from his bed in the American ambulance.

Several times he had to pause and lean against the wall, and when he had passed the barricade at the Place de la Concorde, towards which he had almost instinctively made his way, he sat down on one of the deserted seats in the Champs Elysees, and burst into tears. It had hardly come upon him as a surprise, for he had felt that, conspicuous as he had made himself, the chances of Arnold making his escape were small indeed, especially as Minette would cling to the Commune until the very end. Still it never struck him as being possible that he himself might witness the end. He had thought that the same obscurity that hung over the fate of most of the other leaders of the Commune would envelop that of Arnold. He would have fallen, but how or when would never have been known. He would simply have disappeared. Rumor would have mentioned his name for a few days, the rumor that was already busy with the fate of other leaders of the insurrection, and he had never dreamt that it would be brought home to him in this fashion. After a time Cuthbert pulled himself together, waited until a fiacre came along for on this side of Paris things were gradually regaining their usual aspect and then drove back to Passy.

"What is the matter, Cuthbert?" Mary exclaimed as she caught sight of his face. "Are you ill? You look terribly pale and quite unlike yourself. What has happened?"

"I have had a shock, Mary," he said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "a very bad shock. Don't ask me about it just at present. Please get me some brandy. I have never fainted in my life, but I feel very near it just at present."

Mary hurried away to Madame Michaud, who now always discreetly withdrew as soon as Cuthbert was announced, and returned with some cognac, a tumbler, and water. She poured him out a glass that seemed to herself to be almost alarmingly strong, but he drank it at a draught.

"Don't be alarmed, Mary," he said, with a smile, at the consternation in her face. "You won't often see me do this, and I can assure you that spirit-drinking is not an habitual vice with me, but I really wanted it then. They are still fighting fiercely from Porte St. Martin down to the Place de la Bastille. I believe all resistance has been crushed out on the south side of the river, and in a couple of days the whole thing will be over."

"Fancy a week of fighting. It is awful to think of, Cuthbert. How many do you suppose will be killed altogether?"

"I have not the least idea, and I don't suppose it will ever be known; but if the resistance is as desperate for the next two days as it has been for the last three, I should say fully 20,000 will have fallen, besides those taken with arms in their hands, tried, and shot. I hear there are two general court-martials sitting permanently, and that seven or eight hundred prisoners are shot every day. Then there are some eighteen or twenty thousand at Versailles, but as these will not be tried until the fighting is over, and men's blood cooled down somewhat, no doubt much greater leniency will be shown."

"There is a terrible cloud of smoke over Paris, still."

"Yes, fresh fires are constantly breaking out. The Louvre is safe, and the firemen have checked the spread of the flames at the public buildings, but there are streets where every house is alight for a distance of a quarter of a mile; and yet, except at these spots, the damage is less than you would expect considering how fierce a battle has been raging. There are streets where scarce a bullet mark is to be seen on the walls or a broken pane of glass in a window, while at points where barricades have been defended, the scene of ruin is terrible."

Two days later a strange stillness succeeded the din and uproar that had for a week gone on without cessation night and day. Paris was conquered, the Commune was stamped out, its chiefs dead or fugitives, its rank and file slaughtered, or prisoners awaiting trial. France breathed again. It had been saved from a danger infinitely more terrible than a German occupation. In a short time the hotels were opened and visitors began to pour into Paris to gaze at the work of destruction wrought by the orgie of the Commune. One day Cuthbert, who was now installed in his own lodging, went up to Passy.

"I hear that the English Church is to be open to-morrow, Mary. I called on the clergyman to-day and told him that I should probably require his services next week."

"Cuthbert!" Mary exclaimed in surprise, "you cannot mean——" and a flush of color completed the sentence.

"Yes, that is just what I do mean, Mary. You have kept me waiting three years and I am not going to wait a day longer."

"I have given up much of my belief in women's rights, Cuthbert, but there are some I still maintain, and one of these is that a woman has a right to be consulted in a matter of this kind."

"Quite so, dear, and therefore I have left the matter open, and I will leave you to fix the day and you can choose any one you like from Monday to Saturday next week."

"But I must have time, Cuthbert," she said, desperately. "I have, of course, things to get."

"The things that you have will do perfectly well, my dear. Besides, many of the shops are open and you can get anything you want. As for a dress for the occasion, if you choose to fix Saturday you will have twelve days, which is twice as long as necessary. Putting aside my objection to waiting any longer I want to get away from here to some quiet place where we can forget the events of the past month, and get our nerves into working order again. If there is any reason that you can declare that you honestly believe to be true and valid of course I must give way, but if not let it be Saturday week. That is right. I see that you have nothing to urge," and a fortnight later they were settled in a chalet high up above the Lake of Lucerne.

Rene and Pierre acted as Cuthbert's witnesses at the marriage. Pierre had escaped before the fighting began. Rene had done service with the National Guard until the news came that the troops had entered Paris, then he had gone to M. Goude's who had hidden him and seven or eight of the other students in an attic. When the troops approached, they had taken refuge on the roof and had remained there until the tide of battle had swept past, and they then descended, and arraying themselves in their painting blouses had taken up their work at the studio; and when, three days later, the general search for Communists began, they were found working so diligently that none suspected that they had ever fired a shot in the ranks of the Communists.

When the salon was opened, long after its usual time, Cuthbert's pictures were well hung and obtained an amount of praise that more than satisfied him, although his wife insisted that they were not half as warm as the pictures deserved. It was not until they had been for some time in Switzerland that Mary had learned the details of the deaths of Arnold and Minette Dampierre. That both were dead she knew, for when she mentioned their names for the first time after the close of the fighting, Cuthbert told her that he had learned that both were dead, and begged her to ask no question concerning them until he himself returned to the subject.

Mary wrote to her mother a day or two after she was married giving her the news. An answer was received from Scarborough expressing great satisfaction, and saying that it was probable that the family would settle where they were. Neither Cuthbert nor his wife liked the thought of returning to England, and for the next five years remained abroad. After spending a few months at Dresden, Munich, Rome, and Florence, they settled at Venice. Cuthbert continued to work hard, and each year two or three of his pictures hung on the walls of the Academy and attracted much attention, and were sold at excellent prices. All his earnings in this way and the entire income of Fairclose were put aside to pay off the mortgage, and when, at the end of the five years, Cuthbert, his wife, and two children returned to Fairclose, the greater portion of the mortgage had been paid off, and three years later it was entirely wiped out.

Although very warmly received by the county, Cuthbert retained his preference for London, and during the winter six months always moved up to a house in the artists' quarter at St. John's Wood. Although he no longer painted as if compelled to do so for a living, he worked regularly and steadily while in town, and being able to take his time in carrying out his conceptions, his pictures increased in value and he took a place in the front rank of artists, and some fifteen years after the siege of Paris was elected Academician. Before this he had sold Fairclose and built himself a house in Holland Park, where he was able to indulge his love for art to the fullest extent.

Of his wife's family he saw but little. Mary's sisters both married before he and his wife returned from abroad. Mary went down occasionally to Scarborough, and stayed with her father and mother, but Mr. Brander steadily refused all invitations to visit them in London, and until his death, fifteen years later, never left Scarborough, where he became a very popular man, although no persuasions could induce him to take a part in any of its institutions or public affairs.

Cuthbert has often declared that the most fortunate event in his life was that he was a besieged resident in Paris through its two sieges. As for Mary she has been heard to declare that she has no patience, whatever, with the persons who frequent platforms and talk about women's rights.

Not far from the spot in la Chaise where the pits in which countless numbers of Communists were buried are situated, stands a small marble cross, on whose pedestal are inscribed the words:—"To the memory of Arnold Dampierre and his wife, Minette, whose bodies rest near this place."

THE END.



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THE END