When he began to feel
weary he turned out of the road, knowing that it was safer in the
fields. He had the curious belief or impression now that the black
shower was all arranged for his benefit. Providence was merely making
things even. The soldiers had been brought upon him when the chances
were a hundred to one against him, and then the shower had been sent to
cover him, when the chances were a hundred to one against that, too.
He saw far to the south a sudden faint radiance and he knew that it was
the last of the lightning. The little feathery clouds, which looked so
friendly and pleasant against the blue of the sky, came back and the
moaning on the western horizon toward which he was traveling was wholly
that of the guns.
He heard a noise over his head, a mixture of a whistle and a scream, and
he knew that a shell was passing high. He walked on, and heard another.
But they could not be firing at him. He was still that mere mote in the
infinite darkness, but, looking back for the bursting of the shells, he
saw a blaze leap up near the point from which he had come.
A cold shiver seized him. The range was that of the chateau, and Julie
was there. The French gunners could have no knowledge that their own
people were prisoners in the building, and if one of those huge shells
burst in it, ruin and destruction would follow. The conservatory had
been a silent witness of what flying metal could do. He stopped,
appalled.
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