Chapter
12
THE “SHAPES”ON THE MORNING OF THE day following this memorable spectacle, I woke late, after a feverish night during which I twice seemed to hear the sound of a shot.
“Nightmare!” I thought, when I got up. “I was haunted by the pictures of the bombardment; and what I heard was the bursting of the shells.”
The explanation was plausible enough: the powerful emotions of the amphitheatre, coming after my meeting with Berangere in the course of that other night and my struggle with Theodore Massignac, had thrown me into a state of nervous excitement. But, when I entered the room in which my coffee was served, Theodore Massignac came running in, carrying a heap of newspapers which he threw on the table; and I saw under his hat a bandage which hid his forehead. Had he been wounded?
