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prophecies of the French partisans began to pass for facts.
‘He has cut the armies in two,’ it was said. ‘He is march-
ing straight on Brussels. He will overpower the English, and
be here to-night.’ ‘He will overpower the English,’ shrieked
Isidor to his master, ‘and will be here to-night.’ The man
bounded in and out from the lodgings to the street, always
returning with some fresh particulars of disaster. Jos’s face
grew paler and paler. Alarm began to take entire possession
of the stout civilian. All the champagne he drank brought
no courage to him. Before sunset he was worked up to such
a pitch of nervousness as gratified his friend Isidor to be-
hold, who now counted surely upon the spoils of the owner
of the laced coat.
The women were away all this time. After hearing the
firing for a moment, the stout Major’s wife bethought her of
her friend in the next chamber, and ran in to watch, and if
possible to console, Amelia. The idea that she had that help-
less and gentle creature to protect, gave additional strength
to the natural courage of the honest Irishwoman. She passed
five hours by her friend’s side, sometimes in remonstrance,
sometimes talking cheerfully, oftener in silence and terri-
fied mental supplication. ‘I never let go her hand once,’ said
the stout lady afterwards, ‘until after sunset, when the firing
was over.’ Pauline, the bonne, was on her knees at church
hard by, praying for son homme a elle.
When the noise of the cannonading was over, Mrs.
O’Dowd issued out of Amelia’s room into the parlour ad-
joining, where Jos sate with two emptied flasks, and courage
entirely gone. Once or twice he had ventured into his sister’s

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