It was a fatiguing performance, with apparently little result beyond forcing the garrison now and again to close the embrasures, thus periodically silencing the cannon.

Toward the close of the night a relaxation showed itself in the shouting and firing all round the line.
Beverley's men, especially the creoles, held out bravely in the matter of noise; but even they flagged at length, their volatility simmering down to desultory bubbling and half sleepy chattering and chaffing.
Beverley leaned upon a rude fence, and for a time neglected to reload his hot rifle.

Of course he was thinking of Alice,--he really could not think in any other direction; but it gave him a shock and a start when he presently heard her name mentioned by a little Frenchman near him on the left.
"There'll never be another such a girl in Post Vincennes as Alice Roussillon," the fellow said in the soft creole patois, "and to think of her being shot like a dog!" "And by a man who calls himself a Governor, too!" said another.

"Ah, as for myself, I'm in favor of burning him alive when we capture him.
That's me!" "Et moi aussi," chimed in a third voice.

"That poor girl must be avenged.