On arriving in the Place Royale I inquired for Victor. He had not
returned. I was seized with a shudder of fear. I do not know why the
vision of the dead who had been transported to the Salle Saint Jean
should have come into my mind. What if my Victor had been caught in that
bloody affray? I gave some pretext for going out again. Vacquerie
was there; I told him of my anguish in a whisper, and he offered to
accompany me.
First of all we called upon M. Froment-Meurice, whose establishment was
in the Rue Lobau, next to the Hotel de Ville, and I asked him to have me
admitted to the Salle Saint Jean. At first he sought to dissuade me from
seeing the hideous sight; he had seen it the previous day and was still
under the impression of the horror it inspired. I fancied his reluctance
was a bad sign, that he was trying to keep something from me. This made
me insist the more, and we went.
In the large Salle Saint Jean, transformed into a vast morgue, lay the
long line of corpses upon camp bedsteads. For the most part they were
unrecognisable. And I held the dreadful review, quaking in my shoes
when one of the dead was young and slim with chestnut hair. Yes, the
spectacle of the poor blood-stained dead was horrible indeed! But I
could not describe it; all that I saw of each body was that it was not
that of my child. At length I reached the last one, and breathed freely
once more.
As I issued from the lugubrious place I saw Victor, very much alive,
running towards me. When he heard the firing he had left the room where
he was waiting for me, and not being able to find his way back, had been
to see a friend.