CHAPTER X.
"MY NATIVE LAND, GOOD-NIGHT" The room we entered was destitute of furniture and blackened with smoke.
Heaps of broken fragments impeded our entrance and lay on the floor.
A man sitting on the ground was restlessly taking up one piece after another, and laying them down again, muttering to himself, without noticing us.
"I know not why they should have done so," he said hurriedly; "the poor chairs and tables could not hurt.

And, after all, when they hung me up I gave in, and kissed the cross made by their swords; and they knocked me about after that.

If that was justice, I don't know what justice is.
They hurt my wife, too, or she would not have shrieked out so.

And her word always had been--'Hold out; pain may be borne; and they dare not kill us!' But when she saw them tie me up, she cried out, 'Oh, Pierre, Pierre, give in--give in!' So what was I to do?
Answer me that." "This poor fellow has lost his senses," said Antoine, softly.

"Wait here a minute.