"
"Henri Derblay, of the commune of N----," cried an official, and we
all started as though a gun had been fired. The moment had come: a
minute more and the doubt would become certainty.
"Courage, mother!" whispered the boy, stooping over Madeleine and
repeating in a faltering tone the words I had just spoken to him.
The poor woman was speechless: she tried to smile, but her face
twitched as though in a convulsion. "My child--" she whispered, and
stopped short.
"Henri Derblay!" cried the voice again, and the crowd around repeated
the cry: "Be quick, Derblay, they are waiting for you."
The boy drew his sleeve across his eyes and tottered up to the steps
of the hall. Louise fell down on her knees; Francois and his wife did
the same; for myself, my temples throbbed as in fever, my hands were
dry as wood, and my eyes, fixed on the conscription-urn, seemed
starting out of their sockets.
Henri walked up to the box.
"Allons, mon garcon," said the mayor, "un peu d'aplomb;" and he opened
the lid. Derblay thrust in his hand: his face was turned toward us,
and I could see him draw out his ticket and give it to the captain: a
moment's deep silence.
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