A horrible thought ran through my mind. "Keep still!" I said to Sorle,
who was getting up, and I went down alone.
Four marine gunners were carrying the litter by on their shoulders;
children were running behind.
At the first glance I recognized the sergeant; his face perfectly white
and his breast covered with blood. He did not move. The poor fellow
had gone from our house to the bastion behind the arsenal, to shoot
himself through the heart.
I went up so overwhelmed, so sad and sorrowful, that I could scarcely
stand.
Sorle was waiting for me in great agitation.
"Our poor sergeant has killed himself," said I; "may God forgive him!"
And, sitting down, I could not help bursting into tears!