I jumped off my horse, gave it to
the driver and went over. In broken English I learned they wanted to
cross, but on account of the fire continually bursting the woman would
not, so I picked up the child and carried her across to a cellar about
five doors out of the square. A chunk had been blown out of the building
and there was no difficulty in getting into the cellar, and as soon as I
got to this place the child murmured, "_Bon! bon!_" and indicated she
would go in there. I set her down and she turned her pretty little face
to me for a kiss. She then caught my arm as I was about to go and
slipping off a tiny locket from her little neck, handed it to me,
indicating that she wanted me to keep it. I have it to this day and I
prize it tenderly. It has a small picture of the patron saint of France,
Joan of Arc.
I ran back to her mother, pointed out where the child was, but she still
seemed afraid to venture across. Although my little adventure did not
occupy over three minutes, I could wait no longer, and jumped on my
horse and the train of wagons trotted sharply out of the square.
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