At times there were loud cries, as of men being slaughtered. And
thick clouds of smoke were wafted along and hung about the elms on the
esplanade. Silvere for his part no longer heard or saw anything. Pascal,
who came running down in the direction of the plain, saw him stretched
upon the ground, and hastened towards him, thinking he was wounded. As
soon as the young man saw him, he clutched hold of him and pointed to
Miette.
"Look," he said, "she's wounded, there, under the breast. Ah! how good
of you to come! You will save her."
At that moment, however, a slight convulsion shook the dying girl. A
pain-fraught shadow passed over her face, and as her contracted lips
suddenly parted, a faint sigh escaped from them. Her eyes, still wide
open, gazed fixedly at the young man.
Then Pascal, who had stooped down, rose again, saying in a low voice:
"She is dead."
Dead! Silvere reeled at the sound of the word. He had been kneeling
forward, but now he sank back, as though thrown down by Miette's last
faint sigh.
"Dead! Dead!" he repeated; "it is not true, she is looking at me. See
how she is looking at me!"
Then he caught the doctor by the coat, entreating him to remain there,
assuring him that he was mistaken, that she was not dead, and that he
could save her if he only would. Pascal resisted gently, saying, in his
kindly voice: "I can do nothing for her, others are waiting for me. Let
go, my poor child; she is quite dead.
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