General Le Flo,
the Minister of War, hurls this great army against the two hundred
and fifty-two battalions of National Guards within the walls of
Paris. These fools have a thousand cannon.
Down in the Bois de Boulogne, the fighting pickets pour hissing
lead into the bosoms of brothers. From the heights where the
brutal Prussian soldiery grinned over the blackened ruins of the
ill-starred Empress Eugenie's palace of St. Cloud, the cannon of
the Versaillese rain shot and shell on the walls of defenceless
Paris.
Pere Francois is a blessing in these sad and weary days. Clad
"en bourgeois," he smuggles in food and supplies. He cheers the
half-distracted Josephine. Armand Valois keeps the modest little
maiden Louise, fluttering about the home studio which he shares with
Raoul. Their casts and models, poor scanty treasures, make their
modest sanctum a wonder to the girl. Her life's romance unfolds.
Art and dawning love move her placid soul. The days of wrangling
wear away. An occasional smuggled note from Raoul bids them be of
cheer. Once or twice, the face of Marie Berard is seen at the door
for a moment.
Thrusting a packet of notes in Josephine's hand, she bids her guard
the child and keep her within her safe shelter.
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