I listened as I had never listened before; I listened like the evening and winter-wolf, snuffing the snow, scenting prey, and hearing far off the traveller’s tramp. Yet I could both listen and write. About the middle of the letter I heard⁠—what checked my pen⁠—a tread in the vestibule. No doorbell had rung; Rosine⁠—acting doubtless by orders⁠—had anticipated such réveillée . Madame saw me halt. She coughed, made a bustle, spoke louder. The tread had passed on to the classes .

“Proceed,” said Madame; but my hand was fettered, my ear enchained, my thoughts were carried off captive.

The classes formed another building; the hall parted them from the dwelling-house: despite distance and partition, I heard the sudden stir of numbers, a whole division rising at once.

“They are putting away work,” said Madame.