pronounced, and rose at last like the tramping of an army on the march.
Then amidst the continuous growing rumble one detected the shouts of a
crowd, strange rhythmical blasts as of a hurricane. One could even have
fancied they were the thunderclaps of a rapidly approaching storm which
was already disturbing the slumbering atmosphere. Silvere listened
attentively, unable to tell, however, what were those tempest-like
shouts, for the hills prevented them from reaching him distinctly.
Suddenly a dark mass appeared at the turn of the road, and then the
"Marseillaise" burst forth, formidable, sung as with avenging fury.

"Ah, here they are!" cried Silvere, with a burst of joyous enthusiasm.

Forthwith he began to run up the hill, dragging Miette with him. On the
left of the road was an embankment planted with evergreen oaks, up which
he clambered with the young girl, to avoid being carried away by the
surging, howling multitude.

When he had reached the top of the bank and the shadow of the brushwood,
Miette, rather pale, gazed sorrowfully at those men whose distant song
had sufficed to draw Silvere from her embrace. It seemed as if the
whole band had thrust itself between them. They had been so happy a few
minutes before, locked in each other's arms, alone and lost amidst the
overwhelming silence and discreet glimmer of the moon! And now Silvere,
whose head was turned away from her, who no longer seemed even conscious
of her presence, had eyes only for those strangers whom he called his
brothers.

The band descended the slope with a superb, irresistible stride. There
could have been nothing grander than the irruption of those few thousand
men into that cold, still, deathly scene. The highway became a torrent,