But, what I always think of with pleasure, what I am always proud of,
is that, in the midst of all this trouble, when Sorle, Zeffen, myself,
and everybody were beside ourselves, when we forgot all about our
business, and let everything go, little Safel at once took charge of
our shop. Every morning we heard him rise at six o'clock, go down,
open, the warehouse, take up one or two pitchers of brandy, and begin
to serve the customers.
No one had said a word to him about it, but Safel had a genius for
trade. And if anything could console a father in such troubles, it
would be to see himself, as it were, living over again in so young a
child, and to say to himself: "At least the good race is not extinct;
it still remains to preserve common-sense in the world." Yes, it is
the only consolation which a man can have.
Our _schabesgoie_ did the work in the kitchen, and old Lanche helped us
watch, but Safel took the charge of the shop; his mother and I thought
of nothing but our little David.
He died in the night of the eighteenth of March, the day when the fire
broke out in Captain Cabanier's house.
That same night two shells fell upon our house; the blindage made them
roll into the court, where they both burst, shattering the laundry
windows and demolishing the butcher's door, which fell down at once
with a fearful crash.
It was the most powerful bombardment since the blockade began, for, as
soon as the enemy saw the flame ascending, they fired from Mittelbronn,
from the Barracks, and the Fiquet lowlands, to prevent its being
extinguished.
I stayed all the while with Sorle, near the babe's bed, and the noise
of the bursting shells did not disturb us.
The unhappy do not cling to life; and then the child was so sick!
There were blue spots all over his body.
The end was drawing near.