"Wait here till I return for you," he whispered.

"Fear nothing, my charming friend.
Say to yourself, 'Surville is the soul of honor! Surville is devoted to me!'" He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room, and cast one look of unutterable homage at his charming friend.

"A _bientot!_" he cried, and kissed his hand and disappeared.
As the canvas screen fell over him the sharp report of the rifle-firing was suddenly and grandly dominated by the roar of cannon.

The instant after a shell exploded in the garden outside, within a few yards of the window.
Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror.

Mercy, without losing her self-possession, advanced to the window and looked out.
"The moon has risen," she said.