She saw him in
the invested town, far from those he loved, but, as she never doubted,
struggling against the invaders with all the spirit of his patriotism.
In a few hours, if Heaven favored them, she would be in his arms, giving
him her mother's last words, and nothing should ever separate them again.
If the term of Wassili Fedor's exile should never come to an end,
his daughter would remain exiled with him. Then, by a natural transition,
she came back to him who would have enabled her to see her father
once more, to that generous companion, that "brother," who, the Tartars
driven back, would retake the road to Moscow, whom she would perhaps
never meet again!
As to Alcide Jolivet and Harry Blount, they had one and the same thought,
which was, that the situation was extremely dramatic, and that,
well worked up, it would furnish a most deeply interesting article.
The Englishman thought of the readers of the Daily Telegraph,
and the Frenchman of those of his Cousin Madeleine. At heart,
both were not without feeling some emotion.
"Well, so much the better!" thought Alcide Jolivet, "to move others,
one must be moved one's self! I believe there is some celebrated
verse on the subject, but hang me if I can recollect it!"
And with his well-practiced eyes he endeavored to pierce the gloom
of the river.
Every now and then a burst of light dispelling the darkness
for a time, exhibited the banks under some fantastic aspect--
either a forest on fire, or a still burning village.
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