"Good night, my children," said he; "good night; always at work?"
"Yes, Master Hullin, as you see," replied Jeanne, with a smile. "If one had nothing to do, life would be very tedious."
"True, my pretty girl, true; there is nothing like work to give you those fresh cheeks and large bright eyes."
Jeanne was going to reply when the inner door opened, and Catherine Lefévre entered, casting a searching look at Hullin as if to guess beforehand the news he brought.
"Well, Jean-Claude, you are back again."
"Yes, Catherine. There is both good and bad news."
They went into the inner room, a high and spacious apartment, wainscoted to the very ceiling, with its cupboards of old oak with bright locks, its porcelain stove, its old clock marking the seconds in its walnut case, and its large arm-chair of embossed leather, which had been in use for ten generations. Jean-Claude never went into this room without thinking of Catherine's grandfather, whom he seemed still to see sitting in the shadow behind the stove.
"Well!" inquired the farm-mistress, offering a seatto the sabot-maker, who had just placed his bundle on the table.
"Well, of Gaspard, the news is good; the lad is well. He has seen some hardships—so much the better; that is the making of a young man; but for the rest, Catherine, everything is very bad. War! war!"
He shook his head, and the old woman, with compressed lips, sat opposite to him, upright in her arm-chair, her eyes fixed, and listening eagerly.
"So everything is going wrong; we shall have wars at our very doors?"
"Yes, Catherine, from one day to the next we may expect to see the Allies in our mountains."
"I dreaded as much. I was sure of it; but speak, Jean-Claude."
Hullin then, with his elbows on his knees, his great red ears between his hands, and lowering his voice, began to relate all that he had seen: the defences round the town, the formation of batteries on the ramparts, the publication of the state of siege, the carts filled with the wounded in front of the church, his meeting with the old sergeant at the house of Wittman, and the renewal of the campaign. From time to time he made a pause, and the old farm-mistress would slowly wink her eyes, as though to fix the facts in her memory. When Jean-Claude came to the wounded, the good woman murmured, in a low voice, "Gaspard has escaped that."
Then at the close of this dismal story there was a long silence, and they both looked at each other without uttering a word.
What reflections, what bitter feelings passed through their minds!
After a few moments the old woman strove to rouse herself from these thoughts.
"You see, Jean-Claude," said she, in a calm, grave tone, "Yégof was not wrong."
"No doubt, no doubt he was not wrong," replied Hullin; "but what does that prove? A fool—a maniac, who goes from village to village—who comes down from Alsace, goes back to Lorraine, wanders right and left—it would be very surprising if he saw nothing, and if there should not be from time to time a mixture of truth in his mad sayings. All kinds of things get mixed up in his head, and then people think they understand what he does not understand himself. But it is not now a question of a fool's babblings, Catherine. The Austrians are here. The question is, whether we shall allow them to pass, or whether we shall have the courage to defend ourselves."
"To defend ourselves!" exclaimed the old woman, her pale cheeks flushing with excitement; "whether we shall have the courage to defend ourselves! You must forget, Hullin, that it is to me you are speaking. What! are we then unworthy of our forefathers? Did they not defend themselves, even to the death—men, women, and children?"
"Then you are for fighting, Catherine?"
"Yes, yes, as long as a morsel of flesh is left on my bones! Let them come! The old woman is prepared!"
Her long gray hair seemed to stand erect upon her head; her pale and withered cheeks trembled, and her eyes flashed fire.
She was really grand to look upon, as she stood, flushed and excited, like that aged Margareth of whomYégof had spoken. Hullin silently held out his hand to her, and smiled approvingly.
"Right!" said he; "right! The same as ever. You are like yourself, Catherine; your own true, brave self, as you stand there before me; but now be a little calm, and listen to me. We are going to fight, and with what means?"
"All and every means; all are good—hatchets, scythes, pitchforks."
"Truly, truly; but guns and bullets are best of all. We have guns: every dweller in the mountains hangs his own over his door; unluckily we have neither powder nor ball."
The old farm-mistress grew calm in a moment; pushing her gray locks back under her cap, she stood absently gazing straight before her, with a thoughtful look.
"Yes," she suddenly replied, in a sharp, short tone; "that is quite true; we have neither powder nor ball, but we soon will have. Marc Divès, the smuggler, has some. You shall go to him to-morrow from me. You will tell him that Catherine Lefévre buys of him all his powder and all his bullets, that she pays him for them, that she will sell all her cattle, her farm, her land, all—all—to procure some. Do you understand, Hullin?"
"I understand. This is well done of you, Catherine; it is splendid!"
"Stuff! splendid and well done!" sharply retorted the old woman; "it is only natural that I should avenge myself! These Austrians, these Prussians, these red men, who have already half destroyed us—well! I would pay them back. I hate them, father to son. Now, you see! Buy the powder; and this wanderingbeggar, this fool shall see if we will rebuild his castles!"
Hullin then perceived that she was still brooding over Yégof's stories; but seeing how exasperated she was, and that, besides, her having this notion contributed to the defence of the country, he made no remark on this subject, and simply said:
"Then, Catherine, it's agreed that I go to Divès to-morrow?"
"Yes: you will buy all his powder and his bullets. Some one must also go the round of all the villages in the mountain, to warn the people of what is going on, and arrange a signal with them for assembling in case of attack."
"Make your mind easy," said Jean-Claude; "I will undertake that, too."
They had both risen, and were proceeding towards the door. For the last half-hour the sounds in the kitchen had ceased: the farm people had gone to bed. The old woman placed her lamp in a corner of the hearth, and drew the bolts. Out of doors, it was cold and sharp, the air calm and clear. All the tops of the surrounding trees and the dark firs of the Jägerthal stood out against the sky in dark or luminous masses. Far off in the distance the shrill yelp of a fox resounded in the valley of the Blanru.
"Good night, Hullin," said Dame Lefévre.
"Good night, Catherine."
Jean-Claude rapidly descended the steep hill, and the farm-mistress, after having looked after him for a second, went in and shut the door.
I leave you to imagine the joy of Louise, when she learnt that Gaspard was safe and sound. The poorchild, for the last two months, could hardly be said to have lived. Hullin was very careful not to show her the dark cloud that was slowly, but surely, moving towards them. All the night long he could hear her prattling to herself in her little room, talking low, as if congratulating herself upon her happiness, murmuring the name of Gaspard, and opening her drawers, her boxes; no doubt in search of some of her treasures to which she might whisper of her love.
Thus the little bird, who has been drenched by the storm, while still shivering with cold and wet, begins to sing and to hop from branch to branch at the faint glimmer of sunshine.
illustration
CHAPTER V
When Jean-Claude Hullin went the next morning in his shirt-sleeves to open his shutters, he saw all the neighbouring mountains—the Jägerthal, the Grosmann, the Donon—covered with snow. There is always something striking in this first aspect of winter, come upon the earth in our sleep; the old firs, the moss-covered rocks, still decked in verdure the evening before, and now sparkling with hoar-frost, fill the soul with an indefinable feeling of sadness. "Another year gone," we say to ourselves; "another rough winter to go through, before the return of the flowers!" And people hasten to provide their winter clothing, and lay in their store of fuel. While your humble dwelling is pleasant inside with warmth and light, you hear out of doors, for the first time, the sparrows—the poor sparrows—chirruping mournfully, as they nestle, with ruffled plumage, under the thatch, "No breakfast this morning—no breakfast!"
Hullin put on his strong iron-bound and doubled soled shoes, and his thick overcoat.
He heard Louise walking about in her little room overhead.
"Louise!" he called out; "I am off!"
"What! are you going out again to-day?"
"Yes, my child, I must: I have not finished my business."
Then, having put on his large, slouched hat, he went halfway up the stairs, and said, in a low tone:
"You will not expect me very soon, my child: I have a good distance to go, so do not be anxious about me. If anyone asks you where I am gone, you can say, 'To Cousin Mathias's, at Saverne.'"
"Won't you have your breakfast before you go?"
"No! I've put a crust of bread, and a little flask of brandy, in my pocket. Farewell, my child. Be happy. Dream of Gaspard."
And, without waiting for fresh questions, he took his stick, and quitted the house, directing his steps towards the hill of the Bouleaux,[6]to the left of the village. After about a quarter of an hour's brisk walking, he had passed it, and gained the footpath of the Three Fountains, which winds round by Falkenstein, with which a low stone wall runs parallel.
The first snows of winter, which are never long able to resist the damp of the valleys, were already beginning to melt away, and trickled slowly down the footpath. Hullin mounted the wall to make his footing surer, and as he chanced, by accident, to cast his eyes down on the village, at a distance of within two gun-shots, he saw the housewives busily engaged in sweeping the snow away from the front of their houses, whilst some old men, standing by, wished them good morning as they smoked their first pipe in their doorways. This profound calm, in presence of the thoughts that were stirring within him, moved him deeply; he continued on his way in a thoughtful mood, saying to himself: "How quietly and tranquilly their life flows on! They have no doubts and fears for the future; and yet, but afew days, and what clamour, what strife, may rend the air!"
As the first thing necessary was to procure the powder, Catherine Lefévre had very naturally cast her eyes upon Marc Divès, the smuggler, and his virtuous spouse, Hexe-Baizel.
These people lived on the other side of the Falkenstein, under the very shadow of the old ruinousburg. They had hollowed out for themselves in the rock a very convenient cavern which had only one entrance, and two apertures to admit light; but which, if report spoke true, had another outlet, leading to old subterranean passages of great extent. This the custom-house officers had never been able to discover, in spite of numberless visits paid with that object in view. Jean-Claude and Marc Divès had known each other from childhood—had rambled together as boys in search of hawks' and owls' nests, and, in after life, they met each other at least once nearly every week, at the great sawpits of the Valtin. Jean-Claude, therefore, believed himself sure of the smuggler, but he was not quite so certain of Madame Hexe-Baizel, a very discreet person, and who would not, perhaps, be greatly taken with the prospect of strife and warfare. "At any rate," said he, as he jogged steadily along, "we shall soon see."
He had lit his pipe, and from time to time he turned slowly round to gaze upon the broad landscape, whose limits kept growing wider and wider.
Nothing more beautiful in nature than these wooded mountains, rising one above the other in the pale heavens—these vast plains, stretching out of sight, all white with snow—these black ravines, half hiddenamong the woods, with their sluggish streams gurgling slowly over the smooth pebbles at the bottom.
And then the silence—that grand solemn silence of winter—the half-melted snow falling noiselessly from the tops of the tall firs on to the lower branches, gently bending beneath their weight; the birds of prey whirling in pairs over the forest, uttering their shrill war-cry. All this must be seen, for it cannot be described!
About an hour after he had left the village of Charmes, Hullin, climbing the summit of the steep mountain, reached the foot of rock of the Arbousiers. All around this huge mass of granite extends a sort of rocky terrace, three or four feet wide. This narrow footway, canopied by the tall tops of the slender mountain firs, looks dangerous, but it is safe; unless attacked by giddiness, you can walk along it without risk. Above rises the rocky and ruinous archway of the cavern.
Jean-Claude drew near the smuggler's retreat. He stopped a few moments on the terrace, put his pipe back in his pocket, then advanced along the path, which describes a half circle, and ends on the other side by a sudden gap.
At the very end, and almost on the edge of this gap, he perceived the two lattices of the cave, and the half-opened doorway, in front of which an immense heap of dung was piled.
At the same moment Hexe-Baizel made her appearance, sweeping the dung into the abyss with a large besom made of green broom. She was a little, withered woman, with red tangled locks, hollow cheeks, sharp nose, small eyes sparkling like stars, pinched mouth, amplyfurnished with very white teeth, and a ruddy complexion. As to her costume, it was composed of a very short and very dirty woollen petticoat, a coarse chemise, tolerably clean; her small, muscular arms, covered with a sort of yellow down, were bare to the elbows, in spite of the excessive cold of the atmosphere at this height. To complete her costume, the only coverings to her feet were a pair of old worn-out shoes, down at the heel.
"Ah! good morrow, Hexe-Baizel," exclaimed Jean-Claude, in a tone of mocking good humour. "You are as fat and comely as ever—I see, happy and contented! It does one good to see you."
Hexe-Baizel had started at the first sound of Jean-Claude's voice like a weasel caught in a trap; her red hair seemed to stand on end, and her little sparkling eyes flashed fire; but she instantly recovered herself, and exclaimed, in a short, sharp tone, as if speaking to herself:
"Hullin! the shoemaker! what does he want?"
"I have come to see my friend Marc, fair Hexe-Baizel," replied Jean-Claude; "we have some business to settle."
"What business?"
"Ah! that is our affair. Come, let me go in, that I may speak to him."
"Marc is asleep."
"Well, then, he must be awakened, for time presses."
So saying, Hullin stooped under the doorway, and entered a cavern, whose vaulted roof, instead of being round, was formed in irregular curves, furrowed with crevices. Quite close to the entrance, and two feet from the ground, the rock made a sort of natural hearth; on this hearth a few lumps of coal and somejuniper branches were burning. All Hexe-Baizel's cooking utensils consisted of a copper saucepan, an earthenware porringer, two cracked plates, and three or four pewter spoons; all her furniture of a wooden bench, a wood-cutter's hatchet, a salt-box hung against the rock, and her large besom made of green broom. To the left of this kitchen was another cavern, with an uneven-shaped door, larger at the bottom than the top, and which shut by means of two planks and a cross-beam.
"Well, where is Marc?" said Hullin, as he seated himself beside the hearth.
"I've told you already he is asleep. He came home very late yesterday. My man must have his rest; do you understand?"
"I understand very well, Hexe-Baizel; but I've no time to wait."
"Begone, then."
"It's very easy to say 'Begone,' only I don't want to go. I've not come a whole league to go back with my hands in my pockets."
"Is that you, Hullin?" broke in a rough voice, issuing from the inner cave.
"Yes, Marc."
"Oh! here I am."
A sound like the rustling of straw was heard, then the wooden outworks were withdrawn, and a huge frame, three feet broad from one shoulder to the other, lean, bony, bent, the neck and ears of the colour of brickdust, and with thick, stubbly, brown hair, appeared, stooping through the opening, and Marc Divès, yawning and stretching his long arms with a stifled sigh, stood before Hullin.
At first sight, the aspect of Marc Divès seemed pacific enough; his broad and low forehead, short, curly hair, which came down in a point almost to his eyebrows, leaving his temples bare, his straight and pointed nose, and long chin, and, above all, the calm expression of his brown eyes, would have caused him to be classed rather among the ruminating than a fiercer tribe of animals; but those who so thought would have done wrong. Reports ran throughout the country that Marc Divès, in the event of an attack by the revenue officers, did not scruple to make use of his hatchet or carbine in case of need, and many serious accidents that had befallen the excise collectors were laid to his charge; but the proofs were always wanting, the smuggler, thanks to his profound knowledge of all the defiles of the mountain, and of every cross-road from Dagsburg to Sarrebrück, and from Raon-L'Etape to Bâle, in Switzerland, always contriving to put himself at fifteen leagues' distance from the place where an unlucky encounter had taken place. And then he had such a simple manner about him, and those who spread those evil reports were always sure to come to a bad end, which proves the justice of Providence in this world.
"If you'll believe me, Hullin," said Marc, after he had come out of his hole, "I was thinking of you only yesterday evening, and if you had not come I should have gone straight to the sawpits of the Valtin on purpose to meet you. Sit down; Hexe-Baizel, give Hullin a chair."
He then seated himself on the hearth, with his back to the fire, and his face to the open door, through which breathed the gales of Alsace and of Switzerland.Through this opening, too, a magnificent prospect might be enjoyed; you would have styled it a regular picture, framed in the rock, but still an immense picture, embracing the whole valley of the Rhine, and beyond that the mountains dissolving far in the hazy distance. And, to crown all, there was the fresh breeze of the mountain, and the bright fire, which, flickering and dancing in this owls' nest, was a pleasant sight to turn to, with its ruddy glow, forming such a striking contrast with the pale blue tinge of the distant scenery.
"Marc," said Hullin, after a moment's silence, "may I speak before your wife?"
"She and I are only one."
"Well, then, I have come here to buy of you powder and shot."
"To shoot hares, I suppose," said the smuggler, with a knowing wink.
"No; to fight the Germans and Russians."
There was a moment's silence.
"And you will want a great deal of powder and shot?"
"All you can supply me with."
"I can supply you to-day with three thousand francs' worth," said the smuggler.
"I will take it."
"And as much more in a week's time," added Marc, with the same calm tone and thoughtful eye.
"I will take it."
"You will take it!" exclaimed Hexe-Baizel; "you will take it! No doubt; but who's to pay for it?"
"Be silent!" said Marc, in a harsh tone; "Hullin shall have it; his word is enough for me."
Then, extending his huge hand, with a cordial expression:—"Jean-Claude, here is my hand; the powder and shot are yours; but I should like to have the spending of my share of them, you understand?"
"Yes, Marc; and one thing more. I purpose paying you at once."
"He is going to pay!" said Hexe-Baizel; "you hear?"
"Yes; I'm not deaf! Baizel, go and fetch us a bottle ofbrimbelle-wasser; that'll warm our hearts a bit. I am rejoiced at what Hullin has just told me. Those beggars ofkaiserlikswill not have it quite so much their own way as I thought. It seems we are going to defend ourselves, and with a good will."
"Yes, with a right good will."
"And there are those who will pay for it?"
"It is Catherine Lefévre who will pay for it, and it is she who has sent me," said Hullin.
Then Marc Divès rose, and in a solemn voice, and with his hand extended towards the summits of the steep mountains, he exclaimed:—"She is a woman as grand and as firm as that rock down below there, the Oxenstein, the largest I ever saw in my life. I drink to her health. Drink you, too, Jean-Claude."
Hullin drank, as did also the old woman.
"And now there is nothing more to be said," exclaimed Divès; "but, hark ye, Hullin; you must not fancy this will be an easy matter; all the hunters, all theségares,[7]all theschlitteurs, all the woodcutters of the mountain, will not be too many for the work that is to be done. I have just come from the other side of the Rhine. There are Russians, Austrians, Bavarians, Prussians, Cossacks, Hussars. There are—why, the country swarms with them. They blacken the face of the land; they camp in the plains, in the valleys, on the heights, in the cities, in the open air, everywhere; they are everywhere."
At this moment a sharp cry resounded through the air.
"It is a buzzard on the wing," said Marc, interrupting himself.
But at the same moment a dark shadow passed over the rock. A cloud of greenfinches flew over the abyss, and hundreds of buzzards and hawks were seen taking their rapid, angular flight overhead, uttering harsh cries to frighten their prey, while the whole seemed struggling together in a compact mass that looked motionless by reason of its density. The regular movement of these thousands of wings produced in the stillness a sound like that of dead leaves stirred by the north wind.
"That is the flight of the greenfinches of Ardennes," said Hullin.
"Yes; it is their last passage. The earth is covered with snow, and the seed lies buried in its bosom. Well, look now; there are more men down below there than those birds can number. No matter, Jean-Claude, we will beat them, provided everyone puts his shoulder to the wheel. Hexe-Baizel, light the lantern; I will show Hullin our stores of powder and shot."
Hexe-Baizel, at this information, could not restrain a grimace.
"No one, for twenty years," said she, "has ever entered the cave. He can surely believe us on our word. We take his word that he is going to pay us. I shall not light the lantern, no!"
Marc, without a word, stretched out his hand, and seized a thick cudgel from the wood pile close by; then the old woman, bristling with rage, disappeared into the inner hole like a ferret, and came a few seconds after with a great horn lantern, which Divès quietly lit at the blazing hearth.
"Baizel," said the smuggler, replacing the stick in the corner, "you should know that Jean-Claude is the old friend of my childhood, and that I put a deal more trust in him than in you, old polecat; for if you were not afraid of being hung the same day as me, I should have dangled at the end of a rope long ago. Come, Hullin, follow me."
They went out, and the smuggler, turning to the left, went straight towards the gap which was yawning on the very edge of the Valtin, at the height of two hundred feet in the air. He put aside the foliage of a small oak growing up from below, strode over it, and disappeared as if suddenly launched into the abyss below. Jean-Claude shuddered; but almost immediately afterwards he saw, against the ledge of the rock, the head of Divès, who called to him:
"Hullin, place your hand to the left, you will find a hole; put your foot out boldly, you will feel a step, and then turn upon your heel."
Master Jean-Claude obeyed, not without trembling; he felt the hole in the rock, he encountered the step, and taking a half-turn, he found himself face to face with his companion, in a sort of arched niche, abutting formerly, no doubt, on some postern gate. At the bottom of the niche was a low vault.
"How on earth did you discover that?" exclaimed Hullin, quite thunderstruck.
"While looking for nests, thirty-five years ago. I was one day on the rock, and I often noticed, coming in and out of this nook, agrand dukeand its mate, two magnificent birds, the head as large as my fist, and the wings six feet across. I heard the cry of their little ones, and I said to myself: 'They are near the cavern, at the end of the terrace. If I could take just one turn a little beyond the gap, I should have them!' By means of looking and leaning over, I managed to see the corner of a step just above the precipice. I found a strong holly tree beside it. I grasped the tree, put out my leg, and there I was! What a fight, Hullin! the old bird and his mate were ready to tear my eyes out. Luckily, it was daylight. They flew at me like fighting-cocks, pecking at me, and screaming horribly all the while; but the sun dazzled them. I kicked them with all my might. At last they fell down stunned over the top of that old fir tree down below there; and all the jays round about, the thrushes, the greenfinches, the tomtits, kept flying round about them till night-time, to strip them of their feathers. You can't imagine, Jean-Claude, the heap of bones, of skins of rats, leverets, of skeletons of all sorts, that I found in this nook. It was a regular pest-house. I lost no time in clearing it all out, and discovered this narrow passage. I must tell you there were two young ones. The first thing I did was to wring their necks, and stuff them into my bag; that done, I entered very quietly, and you shall see what I found. Come on."
They then crept along beneath the narrow and low vault formed by enormous blocks of red stone, and through which the lantern they carried cast a flickering light.
At the end of about thirty feet, a vast cavern of circular form, hollowed out of the solid rock, appeared before Hullin. At the bottom were ranged in pyramids about fifty little barrels, and at the sides a great number of bars of lead and bags of tobacco, with the strong odour of which the air was filled.
Marc left his lantern at the entrance of the vault, and now stood looking proudly on his den, while a smile curled his lips.
"This is what I found," said he; "the cave was empty, only in the middle of it there was the carcase of a beast as white as snow—no doubt some fox who had died there of old age—the beggar had found out the passage before me. He slept here soundly enough; who the devil would ever have thought of following him? At that time, Jean-Claude, I was only twelve years old. The thought instantly struck me that some day or other this hiding-place might be useful to me. I did not then know for what; but, in after-times, when I had my first bouts of smuggling at Landau, Kiel, and Bâle with Jacob Zimmer, and when all the custom-house officers were at my heels, the idea of my old cavern began to haunt me day and night. I had made the acquaintance of Hexe-Baizel, who was at that time servant at the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, where Catherine's father then lived. She brought me twenty-five louis as her marriage portion, and we came and settled ourselves in our cavern of Arbousiers."
Divès was silent, and Hullin, after musing a moment, said: "You are very fond of this hole, then, Marc?"
"Fond of it? I'll tell you what, I wouldn't change it for the finest house in Strasburg, with two thousand livres a year to boot. For twenty-three years have Ihidden my merchandize here; sugar, coffee, gunpowder, tobacco, brandy, all finds its way here. I have eight horses always on the road."
"But you don't enjoy yourself."
"I don't enjoy myself! You think, then, it's nothing to trick the gendarmes, the custom-house officers, the excise; to spite them, gull them, hear them say everywhere, 'That beggar of a Marc, what a cunning rogue it is! what a dance he leads you! he sets the law and all its agents at defiance;' and so on, and so on. He! he! he! I'll answer for it, that it's the greatest pleasure in life. And then, the people all round adore you; I sell them everything at half-price. You can afford to be good to the poor, and keep your own belly warm."
"But what danger, what risks!"
"Bah! not an exciseman in the world will ever think of passing that gap."
"I believe you!" thought Hullin, as he reflected that he should have to make his way back over the precipice.
"But for all that," continued Marc, "you are not altogether wrong, Jean-Claude. In the beginning, when I had to come here with one of those little barrels on my shoulder, I used to sweat great drops of perspiration; but I am used to it now."
"And if your foot were to slip?"
"Well then all would be over. As well die spitted on a fir-tree as lie coughing whole days and nights upon a mattrass."
Divès then held up his lantern, and, by its light, the barrels of gunpowder, piled one upon another up to the roof of the vault, were plainly seen.
"It is the best English gunpowder," said he; "it flows like grains of silver over the hand, and makes a splendid charge. You don't want much of it; a thimbleful's enough. And here's some lead without the smallest particle of tin. From this very evening, Hexe-Baizel shall begin to cast bullets; she's a good hand at that—you will see."
They were preparing to return the same way they came, when all of a sudden they were startled by a confused humming sound of talking at no great distance from them. Marc blew out his lantern, and they remained plunged in darkness.
"There is some one walking above there," whispered the smuggler; "who the deuce has managed to climb up the Falkenstein this snowy weather?"
They listened in breathless silence, and with their eyes fixed on a pale streak of light which streamed through a narrow fissure at the end of the cavern. Around this cleft grew some shrubs sparking with hoar-frost, while higher up might be perceived the top of an old wall. As they stood thus anxiously watching in the most profound silence, there suddenly appeared at the foot of the wall a huge head covered with long matted hair, the sharp, lean face ending in a red pointed beard, the sharply-cut profile standing out in strong relief against the white wintry sky.
"It is the King of Diamonds," said Marc, with a laugh.
"Poor devil!" said Hullin, in a grave tone; "he has come to ramble about his castle, with his bare feet on the ice, and his tin crown on his head! Stay! see! he is speaking; he is giving his orders to his knights, to his court; he extends his sceptre to the north and to thesouth—all is his; he is lord of heaven and earth! Poor devil! only to see him with his thin drawers and his old sheepskin on his back, makes me shiver with cold."
"Yes, Jean-Claude, and me, too; it makes me feel like a burgomaster, or mayor of a village, with his round paunch and fat puffy cheeks, who says to himself: 'Me, I am Hans-Aden; I have ten acres of beautiful meadows, I have two houses, I have a vine, my orchard, my garden, hum! hum! I've this, and I've that!' The next day a little touch of colic carries him off, and—good bye! Ah, the fools! the fools! who is there that is not a fool? Come along, Hullin, the very sight of that poor fellow babbling to the wind, and his raven, who croaks of famine, makes my teeth chatter."
As they came out into the open day, Hullin was almost dazzled by the sudden change from the thick darkness. Fortunately, the tall stature of his companion, standing upright before him, preserved him from an attack of giddiness.
"Step firmly," said Marc; "imitate me—your right hand in the hole, the right foot forward on the step, one half turn round—here we are!"
They returned to the kitchen, where Hexe-Baizel told them that Yégof was in the ruins of the oldburg.
"We know it," replied Marc; "we have just seen him taking the air up above there; every one to his taste."
At the same instant, the raven, Hans, hovering over the abyss, passed in front of the door, uttering a hoarse cry; they heard the rustling of the frost-covered bushes, and the fool appeared before them on the terrace. Hislooks were wild and haggard, and, casting a glance at the hearth, he exclaimed:
"Marc Divès, you must give up this place as soon as possible. I warn you; I am weary of this disorder. The fortifications of my domains must be free. I will not suffer vermin to harbour in them."
Then perceiving Jean-Claude his brow grew clear.
"You here, Hullin!" said he. "Can it be, that you are at length wise enough to accept the proposals I have deigned to make you? Do you feel that an alliance such as mine is the sole means of saving you from the total destruction of your race? If it be so, I congratulate you; you have shown more good sense than I expected of you."
Hullin could not help laughing.
"No, Yégof, no; Heaven has not yet enlightened me enough," said he, "for me to accept the honour you wish to do me; besides, Louise is not yet of an age to marry."
The fool had grown grave and gloomy again. Standing on the edge of the terrace, with his back to the abyss, he seemed on his own territory, and his raven, fluttering from right to left, had no power to disturb him. He raised his sceptre, knit his brow, and exclaimed:
"Then now, for the second time, Hullin, I reiterate my demand; and for the second time you dare to refuse me! Now I will renew it yet once more—once more, do you hear? and then let destiny be fulfilled!"
And so, turning gravely on his heel, his head high and erect, in spite of the extreme rapidity of the descent, he vanished quickly from their sight.
Hullin, Marc Divès, and even Hexe-Baizel herself, uttered loud peals of laughter.
"He is a great fool," said Hexe-Baizel.
"I think you are not altogether wrong," replied the smuggler. "That poor Yégof is certainly out of his mind. But never mind that now. Baizel, listen well to me; you must begin to cast bullets of all sizes; for my part, I am going to set out for Switzerland. In a week at the latest, the rest of our ammunition will be here. Give me my boots."
Then tying round his neck a thick red woollen comforter, he took down from the wall one of those cloaks of dark green such as shepherds wear, threw it over his shoulders, pulled his old slouched hat over his brows, took a stout cudgel, and exclaimed:
"Do not forget what I have just told you, old woman, or beware. Forward, Jean-Claude!"
Hullin followed him out upon the terrace without saying good-bye to Hexe-Baizel, who, for her part, did not even deign to come to the door to see them depart. As soon as they had arrived at the foot of the rock, Marc Divès stopped, and said:
"You are going into all the villages of the mountain, are you not, Hullin?"
"Yes, that is the first thing to be done; I must warn the woodcutters, the charcoal-burners, the bargemen of what is going on."
"Without doubt. Do not forget Materne of Hengst and his two boys, Labarbe of Dagsburg, Jerôme of Saint-Quirin. Tell them that there will be powder and ball; that we are in it heart and soul, Catherine Lefévre, I, Marc Divès, and all the honest people of the country."
"Make your mind easy, Marc; I know my men."
"Then good-bye for the present."
They wrung each other's hands and parted.
The smuggler took the path to the right, towards the Donon, Hullin that to the left, towards the Sarre.
They were both proceeding on their way at a good pace when Hullin called to his comrade:
"Halloo! Marc, as you pass Catherine Lefévre's, tell her that all goes well, and that I am gone to the villages in the mountain."
The other answered by a sign of his head that he understood, and then both continued their way.
illustration
FOOTNOTES:[6]The Birch Trees.[7]Workers in a sawpit.
[6]The Birch Trees.
[6]The Birch Trees.
[7]Workers in a sawpit.
[7]Workers in a sawpit.
CHAPTER VI.
An extraordinary agitation prevailed at this time over all the line of the Vosges; the report of an expected invasion spread from village to village, even to the very farms and cottages of the Hengst and the Nideck. The hawkers, the carriers, the tinkers, all the floating population that roves incessantly from the mountain to the plain, and from the plain to the mountain, brought every day from Alsace and the borders of the Rhine a lot of strange news.
"Every place," said these folks, "is being put in a state of defence; foraging parties are constantly engaged in provisioning them with corn and meat. The roads from Metz, from Nancy, from Huningen, and from Strasbourg, are filled with convoys. In every direction you meet waggons full of ammunition, cavalry, infantry, artillery, all hurrying to their posts. Marshal Victor, with his twelve thousand men, is already engaged in keeping the road to Saverne, but the drawbridges are always raised from seven o'clock every evening till eight the next morning."
Every one was of opinion that all this boded no good. Nevertheless, if many felt serious alarm at the near prospect of war, if old women lifted their hands to heaven and prayed to all the saints in the calendar, the greater number thought only of the means of defence.Under such circumstances, Jean-Claude Hullin, you may be sure, was well received everywhere.
That very day, about five o'clock in the evening, he reached the summit of the Hengst, and stopped at the dwelling of the patriarch of the forest rangers, old Materne. It was there that he passed the night; for, in winter time, the days are short and the roads bad. Materne promised to undertake the charge of the defile of the Zorn with his two sons, Kasper and Frantz, and to reply to the first signal that should be made to him from the Falkenstein.
The next day Jean-Claude repaired betimes to Dagsburg, to consult with his friend Labarbe, the wood-cutter. They went together to visit the neighbouring hamlets, to try and inspire every heart with the love of their country; and the day following, Labarbe accompanied Hullin to the house of the Anabaptist, Christ-Nickel, the farmer of Painbach, a respectable and very sensible man, but whom they could not succeed in winning over to their glorious enterprise. Christ-Nickel had but one reply to every observation:
"It is right, it is just; but the Gospel says, 'Put up thy sword in its place; he who slays with the sword shall perish by the sword.'" He promised them, however, his best wishes for the good cause; this was all they could obtain.
They went from thence to Walsch, to exchange firm hand-grips with Daniel Hirsch, an old naval gunner, who promised them his support, and that of all the people of his commonalty. At this place Labarbe left Jean-Claude to continue his way alone. For a whole week longer he did nothing but work his way to and from the mountain, from Soldatenthal to Léonsberg, to Meienthâl, to Abreschwiller, Voyer, Loëttenbach, Cirey, Petit-Mont, Saint-Sauveur, and on the ninth day he found himself at the house of the shoemaker, Jerôme, at Saint-Quirin. Together they visited the defile of the Blanru, after which Hullin, satisfied with his journey and its results, at length took his way back to the village.
He had proceeded for about two hours at a steady pace, picturing to himself camp life, the bivouac, the attack, the marches and countermarches, all the episodes in a soldier's life which filled him with enthusiasm, when afar off, still at a great distance, he discovered in the pale twilight the hamlet of Charmes, and his own little modest tenement, from the chimney of which rose a wreath of smoke so thin as to be almost imperceptible, the little gardens surrounded with wooden palings, the shingly roofs, and, to the left, the large farm of Bois-de-Chênes, with the sawpit of the Valtin at the other end half-hidden in the already dark ravine.
Then, suddenly, and without knowing why, a deep sadness fell upon him.
He relaxed his pace, as he mused upon the calm, peaceful life that he was about to lose, perhaps for ever; of his own little room, so cosy in winter, so fresh and gay in spring, when he threw open the casements, and inhaled the fresh breeze from the woods; of the drowsy ticking of the old clock, and, above all, of Louise, his dear little Louise, spinning quietly in the twilight, with downcast eyelids, and singing some old song in her clear, pure voice in the quiet evening hour, when a feeling of peace and repose stole over them both. This recollection came upon him so forcibly that the smallest objects, every humble implement of his own trade, the long, shining straps, the short-handled hatchet, the mallets,the little stove, the old cupboard, the glazed earthen porringers, the antique image of Saint Michael nailed to the wall, the old canopied bed at the end of the alcove, the bench, the trunk, the little copper lamp—all came back to his mind like a living picture, and the tears stood in his eyes.
But it was, above all, Louise, his beloved child, whom he most pitied. What tears would she not shed! how she would pray of him to give up the thoughts of fighting! how she would cling about his neck, saying, "Oh! do not leave me, dear, dear father! Oh! I will love you so! Oh! say you will not leave me!"
And the honest fellow saw her beautiful eyes bathed in tears; he felt her arms about his neck. For a moment the idea came into his head to deceive her, to make her believe something else—no matter what—to account for his absence, and console her; but such modes of dealing were foreign to his nature, and he grew more and more sad.
As he was passing by the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, he went in to tell Catherine Lefévre that all was going well, and that the mountaineers only awaited the signal.
A quarter of an hour later, Master Jean-Claude, descending the footpath to the house, stood opposite his own modest dwelling.
CHAPTER VII.
Before pushing open the creaking door, the idea struck Jean-Claude to see what Louise was doing at that moment. So he took a peep through the casement into the little room, and there he saw Louise standing by the curtains in the alcove; she seemed very busily employed in folding and unfolding some clothes spread out upon the bed. Her sweet face beamed with happiness, and her large blue eyes shone with a sort of enthusiasm; she was speaking aloud to herself at the same time. Hullin listened, but a cart that happened to be passing just at that moment prevented his hearing what she said.
So, taking his resolution boldly, he entered, saying, in a firm voice; "Well, Louise, here I am back again."
In an instant, the young girl, radiant with joy, and bounding like a fawn, was in his arms.
"Ah! it is you, father dear; I was expecting you. Oh! what a time you have been away, but here you are at last!"
"Because, my child," replied the brave man, in a tone a trifle less firm, placing his stick behind the door, and his hat upon the table; "because——"
He could say no more.
"Oh! yes, yes, because you have been to see ourfriends," said Louise, with a smile; "I know all; Mother Lefévre has told me everything."
"What! you know all, and yet you are the same as usual? So much the better; it shows your good sense. And I, who was dreading to see your tears!"
"Tears! and why, Father Jean-Claude? That shows you do not know me; you shall find I have courage."
The resolute air with which she uttered these words made Hullin smile; but the smile very quickly vanished when she added: "We are going to war, we are going to fight, we are going into the mountain."
"Heyday! hoity-toity! 'We are going, we are going!' what's all this?" exclaimed the good man, quite wonderstruck.
"Yes. Are we not going, then?" said she, in a tone of regret.
"Well—that is to say—I shall have to leave you for some time, my child."
"To leave me! Oh! no. I shall go with you, that's settled. Stay, see, my little bundle is ready already, and I am preparing yours. Don't you trouble yourself about anything; leave it all to me, and it will be all right."
Hullin could not recover from his surprise.
"But, Louise," he exclaimed, "you cannot be thinking of it. Only consider. Why, you would have to pass whole nights out of doors, marching, running; and then the cold, the snow, and, above all, the firing! It cannot be."
"Pray, now," said the young girl, in a voice that shook with emotion, as she threw herself into his arms, "don't make me unhappy; you are jesting with your little Louise; you cannot mean to leave her!"
"But you will be much better here. You will be warm and comfortable. You shall hear from me every day."
"No, no; I will not stay behind; I will go with you. I don't mind the cold. I've been shut up too long; I want a little change of air, too. The birds don't stay at home. The robin redbreasts are out of doors all the winter long. Did I not have to bear the cold when I was quite a little thing, and hunger, too?"
She stamped impatiently with her foot, and then, for the third time, threw her arms round Jean-Claude's neck.
"Come, Papa Hullin," said she, in a coaxing voice, "Mother Lefévre has said 'Yes.' Will you be less kind than she? Ah! if you but knew how I love you!"
The honest fellow, touched beyond measure, had sat himself down, and turned aside his head to hide his emotion and avoid her persuasive caresses.
"Oh! how unkind and naughty you are to-day, Papa Jean-Claude!"
"It is for your sake, my child."
"So much the worse, then, for I shall run away; I shall run after you. The cold, indeed! What do I care for the cold? And if you are wounded, and if you ask to see your little Louise for the last time, and she is not there close to you, to tend you, to love you to the last? Oh! you must think me very hard-hearted!"
She sobbed and cried. Hullin could restrain himself no longer.
"Is it really true that Mother Lefévre consents?" he asked.
"Oh! yes; oh! yes; she told me so. She said, 'Tryto persuade Papa Jean-Claude; for my part, I ask no better; I am quite willing.'"
"In that case, what can I do against you both? You shall come with us. It is settled."
There was then a shriek of joy that made the whole house echo.
"Oh! how good and kind you are!" and with a brush of the hand the tears were dried up.
"We are going away, to ramble over the mountains, and make war," was now the joyful cry.
"Ha!" said Hullin, with a shake of the head; "I see now you are still the same littleheimathslôsas ever. As well try and tame a swallow." Then, drawing her to his knee: "Ah! Louise," said he, "it is now twelve years since I found you in the snow; you were quite blue with the cold, poor little thing! And when we got home to the little cabin, and the warm fire brought you gently round, the first thing you did was to smile upon me. And from that time I have always done whatever you wanted. With that smile you have led me by the nose."
Then Louise began to smile upon him again, and they embraced each other very lovingly.
"And now, then, let us look at the bundles," said the good man with a sigh. "Are they well packed up, eh, child?"
He approached the bed, and stood quite surprised to see his warm clothing, his flannel waistcoats, all well brushed, well folded, and well packed up. Then came Louise's bundle, with her best frocks, her petticoats and thick shoes, all in good order. He could not help laughing at last, and exclaiming:
"Oh!heimathslôs, heimathslôs!there are none likeyou for packing up, when once you've set your mind upon it!"
Louise smiled.
"You are pleased?"
"I must be so! But all this time, while you have been so busy about this work, you never thought, I suppose, of preparing my supper?"
"Oh! that is soon done! I did not know, Papa Jean-Claude, that you were coming back this evening."
"That is true, my child. Cook me, then, something—no matter what, but quickly, for I've a good appetite. In the meanwhile, I'll smoke a pipe."
He seated himself in his old corner, and lit his pipe in an absent, thoughtful manner. Louise bustled about, right and left, like a frisky sprite, now stirring the fire, now breaking eggs into the pan, and tossing up an omelet in the twinkling of an eye. Never had she seemed so gay, so smiling, so pretty. Hullin, with his elbow on the table, his cheek in his hand, sat gravely watching her, and thinking what will, firmness, and resolution there was in that fragile creature, light as a fairy, and determined as a hussar. In another moment she had brought him his omelet on a large-patterned dish, along with the bread, a glass and bottle.
"Now then, Papa Jean-Claude, feast away."
She watched him fondly as he ate his meal.
The fire blazed brightly in the stove, reflecting its warm light on the low rafters, the wooden staircase just visible in the gloom, the great bed at the bottom of the alcove, all the little details of the home so often cheered by the gay humour of the shoemaker, the songs of his daughter, and the pleasant bustle of work. And allthis Louise could quit without a sigh of regret; she thought of nothing but the woods, the snowy path across the endless chain of mountains from their village to Switzerland, and farther still. Ah! Master Jean-Claude had, indeed, good reason to exclaim, "Heimathslôs! Heimathslôs!" The swallow cannot be tamed!—she needs the open air, the boundless sky, the eternal voyage over the wide expanse of waters! She fears neither storm nor wind, nor torrents of rain, as the hour of departure approaches. Henceforth, she has but one thought, one sigh, one cry: "On! on!"
The meal over, Hullin rose, and said to his daughter:
"I am tired, my child; kiss me, and let us go to bed."
"Yes; but don't forget to wake me, Papa Jean-Claude, if you go before daybreak."
"Be easy. It's settled; you shall come with us."
Then, as he looked after her as she ascended the narrow wooden staircase, and disappeared within her own little attic—"Is she afraid of being left alone in the nest?" said he to himself.
Out of doors the silence was so great that it might almost be said to be heard. The village clock had just struck eleven. The good man sat down to take off his shoes. Just at that moment his eye happened to fall upon his gun, suspended over the door. He took it down, wiped it slowly, and tried the lock. He had thrown his whole soul into the business before him.
"There's work in the old gun still," he murmured to himself; and then added in a grave voice:
"It's droll, it's droll; the last time I used it—at Marengo—that's fourteen years ago—it seems to me but yesterday!"
All at once, outside, the crisp snow crackled beneath a rapid footstep. He listened—there was some one. And almost immediately after he heard two little taps at the window. He ran and opened it. The rough head of Marc Divès, with his broad-brimmed hat quite stiff with frost, was visible in the gloom.
"Well, Marc, what news?"
"Have you warned the mountaineers—Materne, Jerôme, Labarbe?"
"Yes, all."
"It is but just in time: the enemy has passed."
"Passed?"
"Yes, along the whole line. I have come fifteen leagues through the snow since morning to tell you."
"Good! we must give the signal—a large bonfire on the Falkenstein."
Hullin was very pale. He put on his shoes again. Two minutes after, with his thick great-coat flung over his shoulders, and his stick in his hand, he softly opened the door, and was following Marc with hasty strides along the footpath of the Falkenstein.
illustration
CHAPTER VIII.
From midnight until six o'clock in the morning, a bright flame shone through the darkness on the summit of the Falkenstein, and the whole mountain was astir.
All the friends of Hullin, of Marc Divès, and of Dame Lefévre, their legs encased in long gaiters, their old guns slung over their shoulders, were silently marching through the woods in the deep stillness of the night towards the gorges of the Valtin. The thought of the enemy crossing the plains of Alsace to come and surprise the dwellers in the defiles and mountains was uppermost in the minds of all. The tocsins of Dagsburg, of Abreschwiller, of Walsch, of Saint-Quirin, and of all the other villages, never ceased summoning the defenders of their country to arms.
You must now picture to yourself the Jägerthal at the foot of the oldburgduring the period of an extraordinary fall of snow, at that early hour of the morning when the tall shadows of the trees begin to be visible through the gloom, and the piercing cold of the night is lessened at the approach of dawn. You must picture to yourself the old saw-works, with its broad flat roof, its heavy wheel loaded with icicles, the low interior dimly lit up by a fire of fir-logs, whose glow is beginning to pale in the faint but clear light of early morning; and all around this fire is a confused jumble of seal-skincaps, felt hats, dark profiles towering one above the other, and pressed close together like a living wall. Farther on, the whole length of the woods, in all the windings of the valley, other beacon-fires lighted up, in their crimson glow, groups of men and women huddling together in the snow.
The agitation was beginning to grow calmer. As the daylight grew stronger and stronger, people began to recognise each other.
"Holloa! cousin Daniel of Soldatenthal! you are here too, then?"
"Why, yes, as you see, Heinrich, and my wife, too."
"What, Cousin Nanette! Why, where is she, then?"
"Down below there, near the great oak, by Uncle Hans's fire."
There were hearty hand-shakings everywhere. Some were giving vent to long and loud yawns, while others again were engaged in throwing sticks and logs of wood on the fire. Some were handing flasks about to each other, while others were drawing back from the circle round the fire to make room for their neighbours, who were shivering with the cold. But in spite of these various means of passing the time, signs of impatience began to show themselves among the crowd.
"But, I say," exclaimed one, "we didn't come here to warm the soles of our feet, did we? It's time to look about, to understand each other."
"Yes, yes," was the general response; "let us come to an understanding; let us appoint our leaders."
"No! everyone is not here yet. Look; there are some from Dagsburg and St. Quirin arriving now."
In fact, as the day grew lighter, it served to show more and more people arriving by all the different pathsof the mountain. There were then already several hundred men in the valley: woodcutters, charcoal burners, watermen, without reckoning the women and children.
Nothing more picturesque can be imagined than this halt in the midst of the snow, in the deep defiles, surrounded by tall pines towering to the skies; to the right, valleys linked with each other, stretching away far out of sight; to the left, the cloud-capp'd ruins of Falkenstein. At a distance, they might have been taken for large flocks of cranes herding together for comfort, 'mid the snow and ice; but, on a nearer view, you could then behold these rough men, with beards bristling like the skin of the wild boar, stern eyes, broad square shoulders, and horny hands. Some among them, taller than the rest, belonged to that fiery red race with white skins, hairy to the very finger-ends, and strong enough to uproot oaks. Of this number were Materne of Hengst, and his two sons Frantz and Kasper. These stalwart fellows, all three armed with long carbines, from Inspruck, wearing long gaiters of blue cloth, with leather buttons, reaching high above the knee, a sort of tunic made of goat-skin, and their hats pushed to the very back of the head, had not even deigned to approach the fire. For the last hour they had been sitting together on the trunk of a felled tree by the river's edge, with watchful eye and keen scent, like hunters lying in ambush, with their feet on the snow.
From time to time the old man would say to his sons: "What are they shivering about, down there? I never knew a milder night for the season. It's like a spring night; the rivers are not even touched by the frost!"
All the forest-rangers of the country round, as they passed, gave them a hearty shake of the hand, and then closed in around them, so that they formed, in a manner, a band apart. These people spoke but little, being used to keeping silence for whole days and nights together, for fear of frightening the game.
Marc Divès, standing in the midst of another group, over which he towered by a whole head, was talking and gesticulating, and pointing sometimes to one point of the mountain, and sometimes to another. Opposite him stood the old shepherd, Lagarmitte, in his long grey smock, his wooden sheep-horn on his shoulder, listening open-mouthed, and from time to time silently bowing his grizzled head. For the most part, all the band seemed attentive; it was principally composed of woodcutters and bargemen, with whom the smuggler was almost daily brought into contact. Between the sawpit and the first fire was seated the shoemaker, Jerôme of Saint-Quirin, a man of about fifty or sixty, with a long face, brown complexion, hollow eyes, big nose, a seal-skin cap pulled over his ears, and his yellow beard descending in a point to his waist. His hands, covered with thick woollen gloves, were leaning on an enormous knotted stick. He wore a long hooded cloak of coarse cloth, and might well have passed for a hermit. Any time a fresh rumour arose in some part or another, old Jerôme turned his head slowly round, and listened intently with knitted brows.
Jean Labarbe, with his elbow on his axe, sat passively looking on. He was a man with pale cheeks, aquiline nose, and thin lips. He had great influence over the men of Dagsburg, owing to his firmness and strength of mind. When everyone was shouting around him:
"We must deliberate; we can't stay doing nothing here!" he simply confined himself to saying: "Stop, Hullin has not come yet, nor Catherine Lefévre." Then all were silent, and contented themselves with looking eagerly towards the path leading from the Charmes.
Theségare,[8]Piorette, a little dry, lean, nervous man with black eyebrows meeting in front, the stump of a pipe between his lips, stood in front of his shed, watching, with an eye at once keen and thoughtful, the strange scene around him.
The general impatience was, however, increasing from minute to minute. Some village mayors, in square-cut coats and three-cornered hats, proceeded towards the sawpit, and called upon the men of their districts to deliberate. Very luckily, the cart of Catherine Lefévre at length appeared in sight coming along the pathway, and immediately a thousand enthusiastic shouts rose on all sides.
"Here they are! here they are! they have come!"
There was a great stir and bustle among the crowd. The groups who were at a distance drew near, everyone came running up, and a sort of shudder of impatience seemed to run through the whole vast assembly. No sooner was a distinct view caught of the old farm-mistress, whip in hand, sitting on her truss of straw with Louise by her side, than cries and shouts rent the air of "Vive la France! Hurrah for Dame Catherine!"
A little way behind came Hullin, striding along across the meadow of the Eichmath, distributing hearty hand-grips, his broad-brimmed hat at the back of his head, his gun slung over his shoulder.
"Good day, Daniel. Good day, Colon. Good day, good day."
"Ah! ha! it's growing warm, Hullin."
"Yes, yes; we shall hear the chestnuts burst in the fire this winter. Good day, old Jerôme; we are engaged in a great enterprise now."
"True, Jean-Claude. We must hope to accomplish it, with the blessing of God."
Catherine, as soon as she reached the sawpit, then told Labarbe to deposit on the ground a little keg of brandy which she had brought from the farm, and to borrow a jug from the sawyer in the shed.
A little while after, Hullin, coming up to the fire, met Materne and his two sons.
"You are late," said the old huntsman to him.
"Well, yes; what would you have? First, we had to descend from the Falkenstein, take our guns, and get the women-kind in marching order. However, here we are at last, so don't let us lose any more time. Give us a blast of your horn, Lagarmitte, to call all the people together. The first thing of all is to lay our plans, to appoint our leaders."
In an instant, Lagarmitte was blowing away at his long horn, with his cheeks inflated to his very ears, and the bands of men, who were still dispersed along the footpaths, and on the outskirts of the woods, hastened their steps to arrive in time. In a short time all the brave fellows were assembled in front of the sawpit.
Hullin, now grave and stern, mounted a heap of trunks of trees, and casting a look of serious meaningon the crowd that surrounded him, said, in the midst of the deepest silence:—"The enemy crossed the Rhine the evening before last; he is now marching over the mountains to enter Lorraine; Strasbourg and Huningen are in a state of blockade. We must expect to see the Germans and the Russians in three or four days."
There was a general ringing cry of "Vive la France!"
"Yes, Vive la France!" replied Jean-Claude; "for if the Allies enter Paris, they will be masters of everything. They may, if they please, re-establish tithes, taxes, convents, privileges, and gibbets. If you wish to see all this again, you have only to let them pass by."
Words cannot describe the gloomy rage depicted in every countenance at these words.
"That is what I had to say to you," cried Hullin, sternly, and pale as death. "You are here, and you are here to fight."
"Yes, yes."
"That is well; but listen to me. I do not wish to take you unawares. There are fathers of families among you. We shall be one against ten, against fifty. We must expect to perish. Therefore, let such as have not well reflected on the matter, as have not the heart and the courage to do their duty to the very end, depart. We will have none of them. Everyone is free."
Then he was silent, and looked on all around him Everyone stood still and motionless; so, with a still firmer voice, he continued:—"No one stirs. All, all are resolved to fight to the last. Well, it delights me to see that there is not a single dastard among us.Now we must appoint a leader. In great perils, the first thing is order, discipline. The leader whom you will appoint will have all the rights of command and of obedience. So, reflect well, for on this man will depend the fate of all."