I went out into the deserted street, walking unsteadily, and hardly
conscious of anything beyond my one absorbing sorrow. I reached the
house at last, and in answer to my summons a servant opened the door.
No, the ladies had not retired; they were still downstairs.

Perhaps my face betrayed the miserable truth; perhaps some chord of
sympathy passed from me to them--I know not. They jumped up and came
forward with a sudden fear in their eyes. I had already bidden them
farewell, and they did not expect to see me again, until I rode from the
city in the morning.

My mother gazed at me earnestly, but said nothing; Jeanne cried
impulsively, "What is it, Edmond? There is bad news! Oh, Edmond, is it
about our father?"

"You must be brave," I said gently, taking a hand of each, "very brave.
Yes, I have received bad news from St. Jean d'Angely. There has been a
fierce fight; our father headed a sortie, and has been seriously hurt.
He was the bravest man there, every one says so from the king downwards.
Even his enemies praise him."

"Edmond," said my mother quietly, "we are strong enough to bear the
truth--is your father dead?"

Words were not needed to answer that question; the answer was plain in
my face, and those two dear ones understood. Oh, it was pitiful to see
their white faces, and the misery in their eyes! And yet I could feel a
pride, too, in their wonderful bravery. They wept silently in each;
other's arms, and presently my mother said softly, "It is God's will;