down his shirt front.
The Germans have broken through, Papa! Please come with me. The Germans! he roared suddenly, and pushed her away from him. I will fight them once again.
He threw up the long-barrelled Shot rifle that had lain across his lap and fired a shot into the painted ceiling.
Plaster dust filtered down on his hair and mustache, ageing him dramatically.
Let them come! he roared. I, Louis de Thiry, say, let them all come! I am ready for themV He was mad with liquor and despair, but she tried to pull him to his feet.
We must leave. Never! he bellowed, and threw her aside, more roughly than before. I will never leave. This is my land, my home the home of my dear wife - his eye glittered insanely my dear wife. He reached towards the portrait. I will stay here with her, I will fight them here on my own soil. Centaine caught the outstretched wrist and tugged at it, but with a heave he threw her back against the wall, and began to reload the ancient rifle on his lap.
Centaine whispered, I must fetch Anna to help me. She ran to the door and another shell ploughed into the north side of the chateau. The crash of bursting brickwork and splintering glass was followed immediately by the blast wave. It threw her to her knees, and some of the heavy portraits were torn from the gallery walls.
She pulled herself up and raced down the gallery. The nitro-acid stink of explosive was mingled with the biting odour of smoke and burning. The staircase was almost empty. The very last of the wounded were being carried out. As Centaine ran into the yard two of the ambulances, both of them overloaded, pulled out through the gateway and turned down the driveway.
Anna! Centaine screamed. She was strapping the carpet bag and bulging sack on to the roof of one of the ambulances, but she jumped down and ran to Centaine. You must help me, Centaine gasped. It's Papa. Three shells hit the chateau in quick succession, and more burst in the stable field and in the gardens. The German observers must have noted the activity around the building. Their batteries were finding the range.
Where is he? Anna ignored the shellfire.
Upstairs. Mama's dressing-room. He is mad, Anna.
Mad drunk. I cannot move him. The moment they entered the house they smelt the smoke, and as they climbed the stairs the stench became stronger and dense wreaths of it eddied about them. By the time they reached the second level, they were both coughing and wheezing for breath.
The gallery was thick with smoke, so they could not see more than a dozen paces ahead, and through the smoke shone a wavering orange glow, the fire had taken hold in the front rooms and was burning through the doors.
Go back, Anna gasped, I will find him. Centaine shook her head stubbornly and started down the gallery. Another salvo of howitzer fire crashed into the chdteau, and part of the gallery wall collapsed, partially blocking it, and swirling brick dust mingled with the dense smoke, blinding them so that they crouched at the head of the staircase.
It cleared slightly and again they ran forward, but the opening that had been torn in the wall acted as a flue for the flames. They roared up furiously and the heat came at them like a solid thing, barring their way.
Papa! screamed Centaine, as they cringed away from it. Papa! Where are you? The floor jumped under them as more shellfire hit the ancient building, and they were deafened by the thunder of collapsing walls and falling ceilings, and by the rising roar of the flames.
Tapa! Centaine's voice was almost drowned, but Anna bellowed over her.
Louis, veins, ch&i, come to me, darling. Even in her distress, Centaine realized that she had never heard Anna use an endearment to her father. It seemed to summon him.
Through the smoke and the dust the comte loomed.
Flames roared all around him, rising around his feet as the floorboards burned, licking at him from the panelled walls, and smoke covered him in a dark mantle, so that he seemed like a creature from hell itself.
His mouth was open and he was making a wild, anguished sound.
He is singing, whispered Anna. The Marseillaise. To arms, Citizens!
Form the ship of State. Only then did Centaine recognize the garbled chorus.
Let an impure blood swirl in the gutters-, The words became indistinguishable, and the comte's voice weakened as the heat enveloped him. The rifle he was carrying slipped from his hand, and he fell and dragged himself up and began to crawl towards them. Centaine tried to go to him again, but the heat stopped her dead and Anna pulled her back.
Dark brown blotches began to appear on her father's shirt, as the white linen scorched, but still that terrible sound came from his open mouth, and still he crawled along the burning floor of the gallery, Suddenly the thick dark bush of his hair burst into flames, so that it seemed that he wore a golden crown.
Centaine could not look away, could not speak again, but she clung helplessly to Anna and felt the sobs wracking the older woman's body, and the arm around Centaine's shoulder tightened so that the grip was crushingly painful.
Then the floor of the gallery gave way beneath her father's weight, and the burning floorboards o ened like a dark mouth with fangs of fire and sucked him in.
No! Centaine shrieked, and Anna lifted her off her feet and ran with her to the head of the stairs. Anna was still sobbing and tears streamed down her fat red cheeks, but her strength was unimpaired.
Behind them part of the burning ceiling fell, taking the rest of the gallery floor with it, and Anna set Centaine on her feet and dragged her down the staircase. The smoke cleared as they went down, and at last they burst out into the yard again, and sucked in the sweet air.
The chateau was in flames from end to end, and shellfire still crashed into it or burst in tall columns of smoke and singing shrapnel upon the lawns and in the surrounding fields.
