FOOTNOTES:[11]A sort of sledge peculiar to the district of the Vosges.
[11]A sort of sledge peculiar to the district of the Vosges.
[11]A sort of sledge peculiar to the district of the Vosges.
CHAPTER XXI.
About ten o'clock in the evening, Catherine Lefévre and Louise, having wished Hullin good-night, went up into the room overhead. There were two large feather beds; and the tall bedsteads, nearly as high as the ceiling, with their long curtains, striped blue and red, had an extremely warm and comfortable appearance.
"Come," exclaimed the old farm-mistress, getting upon her chair, "come, sleep well, my child; for my part, I am quite worn out; I can keep up no longer."
She drew the bed-clothes over her, and in less than five minutes after she was sound asleep.
Louise, being also exhausted, was not long in following her example.
Now this had lasted about a couple of hours, when the old woman was awakened with a start by a fearful tumult. Everything was in an uproar.
"To arms!" was the cry—"to arms! Hi! this way, a thousand thunders! they are upon us!"
Five or six shots followed, illuminating the dark window-panes.
"To arms! to arms!"
The shots were heard again. People were hurrying to and fro. Then Hullin's voice was heard—sharp, penetrating, issuing orders. Then to the left of thefarm, a good distance off, came a sound like a heavy prolonged crackling in the gorges of the Grosmann.
"Louise, Louise!" exclaimed Catherine, "did you hear that noise?"
"Yes. Oh! heavens! how terrible!"
Catherine jumped out of bed.
"Get up, my child," said she; "let us dress ourselves."
The shots were by this time redoubled, and kept passing like flashes of lightning across the window-panes.
"Attention!" shouted Materne.
With these sounds were mingled the neighing of a horse outside, and the trampling of a multitude of people in the alley, in the court-yard, and in front of the farm; the house seemed shaken to its very foundations.
All at once the firing was replied to from the windows of the room on the ground floor. The two women dressed themselves in haste. At this moment the staircase creaked under a heavy footstep; the door opened, and Hullin appeared with a lantern, pale, his hair in disorder, and every sign of agitation visible in his face.
"Make haste!" he exclaimed; "we have not a moment to lose."
"Why, what is happening?" asked Catherine anxiously.
The firing was evidently coming nearer and nearer.
"What?" exclaimed Jean-Claude, almost beside himself, and wildly tossing up his arms; "do you think I have time to explain things to you?"
The farm-mistress saw that there was nothing to do but obey orders. She took her hood, and descendedthe staircase with Louise. By the flickering light of the shots, Catherine saw Materne, bare-necked, and his son, Kasper, firing from the entrance of the valley on to the barricades, while ten others behind them kept loading and handing the guns to them, so that they had nothing to do but to take aim and fire. All this motley group, busily engaged in loading, shouldering, and firing, gave a terrible aspect to the scene. Three or four dead bodies, propped up against the old decayed wall, added to the horror of the combat; the smoke was beginning to make its way rapidly into the dwelling.
When they had reached the foot of the staircase, Hullin exclaimed: "Here they are, thanks be to God!" And all the brave fellows about there, looking up and seeing them, called out, "Courage! Mother Lefévre!"
Then the poor old dame, her frame quite shattered by so many emotions, began to cry. She leaned on the shoulder of Jean-Claude; but the latter passed his strong arm round her, and carried her off like a feather, running all along the wall to the right. Louise followed, crying and sobbing.
Out of doors nothing was to be heard but the whizzing of bullets through the air, heavy thuds against the wall; bricks and mortar were giving way, and tiles flying about in all directions, and exactly opposite, in the vicinity of the barricades, three hundred paces off, were to be seen the white uniforms, in line, lit up by their own fire in the thick darkness of night, and then to their left, on the other side of the ravine of the Minières, the mountaineers, who were taking them in the flank.
Hullin disappeared at the turning by the farm; there all was plunged in darkness. It was as much as you could do to catch a glimpse of Doctor Lorquin on horseback in front of a sleigh, a long cavalry sword in his hand, two holster-pistols in his belt, and Frantz Materne, with a dozen of men, with grounded arms, trembling with rage. Hullin placed Catherine in the sledge, on a truss of straw, and then Louise beside her.
"There you are!" exclaimed the doctor, "and it's a very lucky thing!"
And Frantz Materne added: "If it had not been for you, Dame Lefévre, you may easily believe that not one of us would quit this spot to-night; but when you are in the case, there is nothing to say."
"No," cried the others; "there is nothing to say."
At the same moment, a great tall, long-backed fellow, with legs as long as a heron's, came from behind the wall, running at full speed, and shouting: "The enemy! Fly! save yourselves!"
Hullin turned as pale as death.
"It is the great grinder of the Harberg," said he, gnashing his teeth.
Frantz said not a word; he shouldered his carbine, took aim, and fired.
Louise saw the grinder, thirty paces off in the shadow, stretch out his two long arms, and fall, face downwards, to the ground.
Frantz re-loaded his gun, smiling with a strange expression.
Hullin said: "Comrades, here is our mother; she who has given us powder, and supplied us with foodfor the defence of our country, and here is my child save them!"
They all replied, with one voice: "We will save them, or perish with them."
"And do not forget to tell Divès that he is to remain at the Falkenstein till further orders."
"All right, Master Jean-Claude."
"Then forward, doctor, forward!" cried the brave man.
"And you, Hullin?" said Catherine.
"For me, my place is here; we shall have to defend our position to the death!"
"Papa Jean-Claude!" cried Louise, stretching out her arms to him.
But he had already turned the corner; the doctor struck his horse, the sleigh sped over the snow, and behind followed Frantz Materne and his men, carbine on shoulder, while the firing still continued all round the farm. This is what Catherine Lefévre and Louise beheld in the space of a few minutes. Something strange and terrible had doubtless happened during the night. The old farm-mistress, recollecting her dream, grew silent and absorbed. Louise dried her tears, and threw a long look on the hillside she was leaving, and which was all alight, as if on fire. The horse, urged by the doctor, went at full speed; the mountaineers who formed the escort could hardly keep up with him. For a long time still the tumult, the sounds of the combat, the explosions, the hissing of bullets whistling through the trees, continued to be heard; but all this, by degrees, grew less and less, and in a short time, at the descent of the path, all had disappeared as in a dream.
The sledge had just reached the other acclivity of the mountain, and was speeding like an arrow through the darkness of the night. The gallop of the horse, the hurried breathing of the escort, the occasional cry of the doctor, "Up, Bruno! come up, then!" alone disturbed the silence.
A strong gust of cold air coming up from the valleys of the Sarre, brought from a distance, like a sigh, the ceaseless sounds of the torrents and the woods. The moon, just emerging from behind the cloud, shed her pale light over the gloomy forests of the Blanru with their tall fir-trees loaded with snow.
Ten minutes after, the sledge reached the corner of these woods, and Doctor Lorquin, turning round on his saddle, called out:
"Now, Frantz, what shall we do? This is the path which leads towards the hills of St. Quirin, and this other leads down to the Blanru; which shall we take?"
Frantz and his escort had come up with them. As they found themselves then on the eastern declivity of the Donon, they began to see again, on the other side, high in air, the firing of the Germans who came by the Grosmann.
They saw nothing but the flashes, and a few instants after the reports awoke the echoes of the abyss.
"The path by the hills of St. Quirin," said Frantz, "is the shortest way to the farm of Bois-des-Chênes; we shall gain at least three-quarters of an hour."
"Yes," cried the doctor; "but we risk being stopped by thekaiserlicks, who now hold the pass of the Sarre. See, they are already masters of the heights; they have, no doubt, sent detachments on to Sarre-Rouge to secure the passage of the Donon."
"Let us take the path by the Blanru," said Frantz; "it is longer, but it is safer."
The sleigh descended the path, to the left through the woods. The volunteers marched one behind the other, gun in hand, on the rising ground, while the doctor on horseback in the road beneath made his way through the untrodden snow that lay thick upon the ground. Above hung the branches of the dark fir-trees overshadowing the gloomy pathway, while all around the moon was shining brightly. As they proceeded thus for about a quarter of an hour, in silence, Catherine, after having held her tongue for a long while, not being able to contain herself any longer, exclaimed:
"Doctor Lorquin, now that you have got us into the pass of the Blanru, and can do what you like with us, perhaps you will be good enough to explain why we have been taken away by force? Jean-Claude came and caught me up in his arms, and tossed me on to this truss of straw, and here I am!"
"Houp, Bruno!" said the doctor.
Then he gravely replied:—"To-night, Dame Catherine, the worst of misfortunes has befallen us. You must not be angry with Jean-Claude, for through the fault of another, we lose the fruit of all our sacrifices."
"By whose fault?"
"Of that unlucky Labarbe, who has not held the pass of the Blutfeld. He has since died doing his duty; but that does not repair the disaster, and if Piorette does not come in time to the support of Hullin, all is lost! We must yield our posts, and beat a retreat."
"What! Blutfeld is taken?"
"Yes, Dame Catherine; who the deuce would have ever thought that the Germans could approach that way? A defile almost impracticable for foot passengers, hemmed in as it is between perpendicular rocks, where the shepherds themselves can hardly descend with their flocks of goats. Well, they passed through there, two by two; surprised Roche-Creuse; they killed Labarbe, and then fell upon Jerôme, who defended himself like a lion until nine o'clock in the evening; but, at the last, he was obliged to fly into the fir forest, and leave the passage free to thekaiserlicks. That is the whole of the story. It is fearful. There must have been in the country some man cowardly enough, vile enough, to guide the enemy to our rear, and deliver us up, bound hand and foot. Oh! the wretch!" exclaimed Lorquin, his voice quivering with rage. "I am not naturally cruel; but if he should fall into my clutches, I would tear him to pieces! Houp, Bruno! come up!"
The volunteers still continued their way along the rising ground, silently, like shadows.
The sleigh again set off at full gallop, then, after a while, relaxed its speed; the horse was panting for breath.
The old farm-mistress continued silent, to arrange these fresh ideas in her head.
"I begin to understand," said she, after a few moments; "we have been attacked to-night in front and on the side."
"Exactly so, Catherine; fortunately, ten minutes before the attack, one of Marc Divès' men—a smuggler,Zimmer, the ex-dragoon—came in breathless haste to put us on our guard. But for that, we should have been lost. He came up with our vanguard, after having ran the gauntlet of a whole regiment of Cossacks on the side of the Grosmann. The poor devil had received a terrible sword-thrust; his bowels were hanging over his saddle; were they not, Frantz?"
"Yes," gloomily replied the young huntsman.
"And what did he say?" asked the old farm-mistress.
"He had only time to cry, 'To arms! we are surprised. Jerôme has sent me. Labarbe is dead. The Germans have forced the Blutfeld.'"
"He was a brave man," said Catherine.
"Yes, he was a brave man!" replied Frantz, despondingly.
Then all became silent again, and for a long time the sleigh continued to wend its way along the winding valley.
At times it was obliged to stop, the snow was so deep; three or four mountaineers then got down to lead the horse by the bridle, and they thus continued on their way.
"But, for all that," rejoined Catherine, suddenly rousing herself from her reverie, "Hullin might just as well have told me."
"But if he had told you of those two attacks," interrupted the doctor, "you would have wanted to stay behind."
"And who could have prevented my doing what I wish? If I pleased now to alight at this moment from the sleigh and go back, should I not be free to do soI have forgiven Jean-Claude, and I am sorry that I did so."
"Oh! Mother Lefévre, if he should happen to be killed while you were saying that?" murmured Louise.
"The child is right," thought Catherine; and then quickly added: "I say that I am sorry for it; but he is such a brave and worthy man that you cannot be angry with him. I forgive him with all my heart; in his place I should have acted like him."
Two or three hundred paces further on, they entered the defile of the Roches. The snow had ceased to fall; the moon was shining brightly between two large black and white clouds. The narrow gorge, shut in by steep rocks, lay stretched in the distance, and on the mountain sides, tall fir-trees lifted their lofty tops to the skies. Nothing disturbed the deep silence of the woods; you might have thought yourself far away from any human agitation. The silence was so profound that not only was every one of the horse's steps distinctly heard on the snow, but at times even his heavy breathing. Frantz Materne would sometimes stop, and cast a hasty, anxious glance around, then step out quickly again to overtake the others.
And valleys succeeded to valleys. The sleigh ascended, descended, turned to the right, then to the left, while the mountaineers, with the glitter of their steel bayonets just visible in the greyish dawn, as perseveringly followed it.
They had just reached thus, about four o'clock in the morning, the meadow of the Brimbelles, where there may be seen in our own day a large oak just at the turn of the valley. On the other side, on theleft, in the midst of trees and shrubs all white with snow, behind its little stone wall, and the palings of its little garden, the old house of the keeper Cuny was just beginning to be visible, with its three beehives safely fixed on a plank, its old knotty vine creeping to the very top of its shelving roof, and its little branch of fir suspended outside in form of a sign, for Cuny carried on also the trade of publican in this solitary place.
illustration
CHAPTER XXII.
At the spot which the sleigh and the convoy had reached, the road winds round at the higher portion of the level ground, which lies four or five feet below, and as a thick cloud veiled the moon, the doctor, afraid of upsetting his equipage, stopped under the oak.
"We have only about an hour's journey more, Dame Lefévre," said he, "so be of good heart; we are out of danger now."
"Yes," said Frantz; "we have got the worst part over, and now we can let the horse take a little breath."
All the band gathered round the sleigh, and the doctor alighted. Some struck a match to light their pipes, but no one said anything, for they were all thinking of the Donon. What was passing there? Would Jean-Claude succeed in holding his position until the arrival of Piorette? So many painful things, so many mournful reflections passed through the minds of these brave fellows, that no one had the least desire to speak.
When they had been standing for about five minutes beneath the old oak, just as the cloud was slowly retiring, and the pale moonlight streamed through the gorge, all at once, at two hundred paces opposite them, a dark figure on horseback appeared in the footpath among the fir-trees. The moon's rays, falling full onthis tall dark figure, revealed distinctly to them a Cossack, with his sheepskin cap, and his long lance under his arm, the point behind. He was coming along at a gentle trot. Frantz had already taken aim, when behind the first appeared another lance, then another Cossack, then another, and among the dark shadows of the trees, and under the pale canopy of heaven, the trampling of horses and glittering of lances announced the approach of the Cossacks in single file, who were coming straight towards the sledge, but leisurely, like people who are searching for something, some with upturned faces, others leaning forward over the saddle as though to look underneath the bushes; altogether there were more than thirty of them.
Judge of the emotion of Louise and Catherine, seated on their sleigh in the middle of the road. They looked at each other in open-mouthed surprise. Another moment, and they would be in the midst of those bandits. The mountaineers seemed stupefied; it was impossible to return: on one side the meadow slope to descend, on the other the mountain to climb. The old farm-mistress, in her distress, took Louise by the arm, exclaiming: "Let us escape into the woods!"
She attempted to get out of the sleigh, but her shoe stuck fast in the straw.
Suddenly one of the Cossacks uttered a guttural exclamation, which ran through the whole line.
"We are discovered!" cried Doctor Lorquin, drawing his sword.
He had hardly said the word when a dozen shots lit up the path from one end to the other, and a regular howling of savages replied to the volley; the Cossacks crossed from the path into the meadow opposite, theirreins hanging loosely, knees squared, urging their horses to their utmost speed, and making for the keeper's house with the fleetness of stags.
"Ha! they must be riding to the devil!" cried the doctor.
But the worthy man spoke too soon; at two or three hundred paces down in the valley, the Cossacks suddenly wheeled round, like a flock of starlings describing a circle—then, with poised lance, and nose bent down between their horses' ears, they galloped furiously right down upon the mountaineers, uttering their hoarse war-cry: "Hurrah! hurrah!"
It was a terrible moment!
Frantz and the others flung themselves on the wall to cover the sledge.
Two seconds after, nothing was heard but the clashing of lances and bayonets, cries of rage answering to imprecations; nothing seen under the shadow of the old oak, through whose branches some pale rays of light still glimmered, but horses rearing on their hind legs, wildly tossing their manes, madly striving to leap over the meadow wall, and above, veritably savage faces, with gleaming eyes, uplifted arms, hurling furious blows, advancing, retreating, and uttering wild shouts fit to make the hair stand erect upon your head.
Louise, as pale as death, and the old farm-mistress, with her long thin gray locks, were standing up in the straw.
Doctor Lorquin stood before them, parrying the blows with his sword, and all the while he was warding them off he kept shouting: "Lie down! Death and destruction! keep down, will you?"
But they did not hear him.
Louise, in the midst of this tumult, of these savage shouts, thought of nothing but shielding Catherine; and the old farm-mistress—judge of her terror!—had just recognised Yégof, on a tall, bony horse—Yégof, his tin crown on his head, his matted beard, his lance in hand, and his long sheepskin floating from his shoulders. She saw him there as plainly as if it had been broad daylight; yes, it was he whose sinister face she beheld ten paces off, with its flaming eyes, darting forth his long blue lance and striving to reach her. What should she do? Submit, yield to her fate? Thus it is that the firmest natures feel themselves forced to bow before an inflexible destiny. The old woman believed herself doomed beforehand; she believed herself foredoomed, and gazed on all those ferocious men, yelling and leaping like so many hungry wolves, aiming and receiving blows in the soft clear moonlight. She saw some struck down, and their horses, the bridle hanging over their neck, escaping into the meadow. She saw the uppermost windows in the keeper's house open on the left, and old Cuny, in his shirt-sleeves, level his gun, without daring to fire into themêlée. She saw all these with singular clearness, and kept saying to herself: "The fool has returned: whatever happens, he will hang my head to his saddle. It must end as it did in my dream!"
And, in truth, everything seemed to justify her fears. The mountaineers, too inferior in number, were giving way.
There was a regular hand-to-hand encounter. The Cossacks, leaping up the ascent, fought in the path; one sword-thrust, better directed than the others, reached the back of the old woman's head; she felt the touch of the cold steel just in the nape of her neck.
"Oh! the wretches!" she shrieked, falling back, and supporting herself with her two hands at her back.
Doctor Lorquin himself had just been knocked against the sleigh. Frantz and the rest, surrounded by twenty Cossacks, could not run to their assistance. Louise felt a hand laid upon her shoulder; it was the hand of the fool, still bestriding his tall horse.
At this supreme moment, the poor child, mad with fear, uttered a cry of agony; at the same moment she caught sight of something shining in the dark, the pistols of Lorquin, and, quick as lightning, snatching them from the doctor's belt, she fired both shots at once, scorching the beard of Yégof, whose pale face was lit up by the flash, and shattering the skull of a Cossack who was leaning towards her, his white eyes distended with desire.
In another instant, she seized Catherine's whip, and, standing up, pale as a corpse, she lashed the flanks of the horse, who set off at full gallop. The sleigh flew wildly along; it swayed to the right and left. All of a sudden, there was a violent shock; Catherine, Louise, and all rolled in the snow down the steep descent of the ravine. The horse suddenly stopped short, thrown back upon his haunches, his mouth covered with bloody foam.
Rapid as this fall had been, Louise had seen some shadows pass like the wind behind the trees. She had heard a terrible voice, that of Divès, shout: "Forward! Stab, stab!"
It was but a vision, one of those confused apparitions such as pass before our eyes at our last hour; but as she arose, no doubt remained in the poor girl's mind;a sharp conflict was raging at twenty paces from her, behind a ridge of trees, and Marc was shouting lustily: "Courage, lads! no quarter!"
Then she saw a dozen Cossacks climbing up the opposite side of the mountain, through the bushes, like hares, and above, in the broad light of the moon, Yégof crossing the valley at his utmost speed, like a frightened bird. Several shots were sent after him, but the fool escaped them all, and, drawing himself up to his full height in his spurs, he turned round, brandishing his lance with a defiant air, and uttering a loud hurrah in the shrill tone of a heron who has just escaped from the talons of the eagle, and wings his rapid flight through the air.
Two shots were again sent after him from the keeper's house; something, a shred of his rags, detached itself from the person of the fool, who continued his way, repeating his hurrahs in a hoarse accent while scaling the path his comrades had taken.
And all this vision disappeared as in a dream.
Then Louise turned round; Catherine was standing beside her, not less dumfounded, but not less watchful. They looked at each other for a moment, and then threw themselves into each other's arms with a feeling of inexpressible relief.
"We are saved!" murmured Catherine. And, woman-like, they both began to cry.
"You have behaved bravely," said the farm-mistress—"well, very well. Jean-Claude, Gaspard, and I, we may be proud of you."
Louise was agitated by such profound emotion that she trembled from head to foot. The danger past, her own gentle nature regained the ascendancy; shewas at a loss to account for the courage she had just shown.
In another moment, finding themselves a little recovered, they were preparing to climb back into the road, when they saw five or six of the mountaineers and the doctor coming to look after them.
"Ah! it's no use for you to cry, Louise," said Lorquin; "you are a dragon, a right-down imp. Now, your heart's in your mouth to look at you, but we all saw you at work. And, by-the-bye, my pistols—where are they?"
At this moment there was a rustling among the bushes, and the tall form of Marc Divès appeared, sword in hand, while he exclaimed:
"Holloa! Dame Catherine; those are rough adventures. A thousand thunders! what a lucky chance that I should happen to be there! Those beggars would rifle you from head to foot!"
"Yes," said the old farm-mistress, pushing her gray hair under her cap, "it is most fortunate."
"Fortunate! Ah! I believe you. It is not more than ten minutes since I arrived with my ammunition waggon at Cuny's house. 'Don't go to the Donon,' said he to me; 'for the last hour the sky has been all red on that side. There is fighting going on there, you may be sure.' 'You think so?' 'Yes, I do indeed.' 'Then Joson shall go out and look about and see how the land lays.' 'Good.' Joson had no sooner gone than I hear shouts like five hundred devils. 'What's the matter, Cuny?' 'Can't say.' We push the door open, and we see the hurly-burly. Ha!" continued the tall smuggler, "it did not take me long to be among them. I leap on mygood horse, Fox, and then forward. What a piece of luck!"
"Ah!" said Catherine, "if we were only sure that our affairs were going as well as the Donon, we might rejoice in good earnest."
"Yes, yes, Frantz told me all about that—that's the devil; there must be always some hitch," replied Marc. "In short—in short, we are still stuck fast here, with our feet in the snow. Let us hope that Piorette will not leave his comrades long in that plight, and now let us empty our glasses, which are still half full."
Other smugglers had just arrived, saying that that wretch of a Yégof might be back soon, with a lot more of his own sort at his back.
"That is true," replied Divès. "We will return to the Falkenstein, since that is Jean-Claude's order; but we cannot take our waggon with us; it would prevent our taking the cross-roads, and, in an hour, all those bandits would be down on us tooth and nail. Let us go, in the first place, back to Cuny's; Catherine and Louise will not be sorry to drink a cup of wine, nor the others either; it will warm their hearts for them. Come up, Bruno!"
He took the horse by the bridle. Two wounded men had just been laid on the sleigh. Two others having been killed, with seven or eight Cossacks lying dead upon the snow, their large boots wide apart, were obliged to be abandoned, and they proceeded directly towards the house of the old ranger. Frantz was consoling himself for not having been at the Donon. He had run two Cossacks through, and the sight of the inn besides tended to put him into goodhumour. In front of the door the ammunition waggon was stationed. Cuny came out to meet them, exclaiming:
"Welcome, Dame Lefévre; what a night for women! Sit down! What is going on up above there?"
Whilst they were hastily draining a bottle, he was obliged to have everything explained to him over again. The good old man, dressed in a simple jerkin and green breeches, with his wrinkled face and bald head, listened eagerly, his eyes quite round with surprise, his hands clasped as he exclaimed:
"Good God! good God! what times we live in! Now-a-days you cannot go along the high road without the risk of being attacked. It is worse than the old stories of the Swedes."
And he shook his head.
"Come," cried Divès, "time presses; let us be going!"
When all were ready to start, the smugglers led the waggon, which contained some thousands of cartridges and two little barrels of brandy, about five hundred yards off; they then unharnessed the horses.
"Now, keep going on!" cried Marc, "in a few minutes we will rejoin you."
"But what are you going to do with that vehicle there?" asked Frantz. "Since we have not time to take it back to the Falkenstein, better put it safe under Cuny's shed than leave it in the middle of the road."
"Yes, to get the poor old fellow strung up when the Cossacks arrive, for they will be here before another hour. Don't trouble yourself about anything. I know what I'm about."
Frantz rejoined the sleigh, which set out on its way.In a short time they passed the sawpit, and then took a short cut to the right to reach the farm of Bois-des-Chênes, whose tall chimney was discernible three-quarters of a league off.
When they were halfway up the mountain, Marc Divès and his men overtook them, calling out to them: "Halt! stop a little while. Look down below there."
And they all, having looked behind towards the bottom of the gorge, saw the Cossacks caracoling round the cart, to the number of two or three hundred.
"They are here! Let us fly!" cried Louise.
"Stay a little," replied the smuggler; "we have nothing to fear."
He was just speaking, when an immense sheet of flame extended its two crimson wings from one mountain to the other, illuminating the woods and rocks to their very summits, as well as the little house of the ranger, then came such an explosion that it made the very earth tremble.
And as all the bewildered spectators stood looking at each other, for the moment speechless and spell-bound with fear, Marc's loud peals of laughter mingled with the sounds that still rang in their ears.
"Ha! ha! ha!" he exclaimed, "I was sure that the beggars would stop around the waggon to drink my brandy, and that the match would have time to reach the powder! You think they are likely to follow us, do you? I tell you what, their arms and legs are by this time hanging to the branches of the fir-trees! Come on; and may Heaven do as much to all those who attempt to cross the Rhine!"
All the escort, the mountaineers, the doctor—everybody, had grown silent again. So many terribleemotions inspired each one with endless thought, quite different from those of ordinary life. They could not help saying to themselves: "What are men, thus to destroy, torment, devour, and ruin each other? What have they done, that they should hate each other so? And what can the ferocious spirit that excites them to it be, if it's not the devil himself?"
Divès and his men alone could behold such things unmoved, and while they galloped away, laughed and applauded themselves.
"For my part," said the tall smuggler, "I never saw such a capital joke. Ha! ha! ha! I shall never stop laughing at it, if I live for a thousand years."
Then all of a sudden a gloom came over him, and he exclaimed:
"For all that, this must be Yégof's work. We must be blind not to see that it is he who led the Germans to the Blutfeld. I should be sorry if he had met his end by the blowing up of my cart. I have something better in store for him. All I desire is, that he may keep all right until we chance to meet each other somewhere in the corner of a wood. If I have to wait a year, ten, twenty years, no matter, so it comes at last. The longer I shall have waited, the better my appetite will be: tit-bits are good cold, like boar's head cooked in white wine."
He said this in a laughing, good-humoured way, but those who knew him augured from it no good to Yégof.
In half an hour after they had all arrived before the farm of Bois-des-Chênes.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Jerôme de St. Quirin had safely effected his retreat upon the farm. Since midnight he had occupied the rising ground on which it stood.
"Who goes there?" was the challenge of the sentinels as the escort approached.
"It is us—us from the village of Charmes," replied Marc Divès in his stentorian voice.
They were recognised and allowed to pass.
The farm was wrapped in silence. An armed sentinel was walking up and down before the barn, where about thirty of the mountaineers were asleep upon some straw. Catherine, at sight of those heavy gabled roofs, those old outhouses, those stables, of all that ancient dwelling-place within whose walls she had passed her youth, where her father and her grandfather had tranquilly spent their peaceful and industrious lives, and which she was about to abandon, perhaps for ever, Catherine felt a terrible oppression of the heart; but she kept the feeling to herself, and springing from the sleigh, just as in former times she used to return from market:
"Well, Louise," said she, "here we are at home again, thanks be to God."
Old Duchêne had come and opened the door, exclaiming:
"Ah! is it you, Madame Lefévre?"
"Yes, it is us! No news of Jean-Claude?"
"No, Madam."
Then they all went into the large kitchen.
Some embers were still blazing on the hearth, and under shadow of the immense chimney-piece was sitting Jerôme de Saint-Quirin, with his large cloth hood, his sandy pointed beard, his thick stick between his knees, and his carbine resting against the wall.
"Good-morrow, Jerôme," said the old farm-mistress.
"Good-morrow, Catherine," answered the grave and solemn leader of the Grosmann, "you come from the Donon?"
"Yes. Things are taking a bad turn, my poor Jerôme! we were obliged to leave the farm, because it was attacked by thekaiserlicks. There was nothing but white uniforms to be seen on every side. They were just beginning to pass the barricades."
"Then you think that Hullin will be obliged to abandon the position?"
"If Piorette does not come to his assistance, it is possible!"
The mountaineers had drawn near the fire. Marc Divès was stooping over the ashes to light his pipe; as he raised himself up, he exclaimed:
"For my part, Jerôme, I only wish to ask you one thing: I know already that the men under your command fought well."
"We did our duty," replied the shoemaker; "there are sixty men lying dead on the side of the Grosmann, who will be able to say as much at the last judgment."
"Yes; but who, then, was it that acted as guide tothe Germans? They could not of themselves have found out the passage of the Blutfeld."
"It is Yégof, the fool Yégof," said Jerôme, whose gray eyes, circled by deep wrinkles, and overhung by thick white eyebrows, seemed really to flash with fire as he spoke.
"Ah! You are quite sure of it?"
"Labarbe's men saw him in the act—he was leading the others."
The mountaineers regarded each other with looks of indignation.
At this moment Doctor Lorquin, who had stayed outside to unharness the horse, opened the door, exclaiming:
"The pass is lost! Here are our men from the Donon; I have just heard Lagarmitte's horn."
It is easy to imagine the emotion of the bystanders. Every one began to think of the relations, the friends, whom he might perhaps never see again, and all, including those in the kitchen and the barn, rushed out to learn the news. At the same moment, Robin and Dubourg, who were placed as sentinels on the Bois-des-Chênes, exclaimed:
"Who goes there?"
"France," replied a voice.
And, in spite of the distance, Louise, thinking she recognised her father's voice, was seized with such a sudden emotion, that Catherine was obliged to support her in her arms.
Almost immediately the sound of a number of footsteps was heard upon the hard crisp snow, and Louise, no longer able to contain herself, cried out, in a trembling voice:
"Papa Jean-Claude!"
"Here I am," replied Hullin, "here I am!"
"My father?" exclaimed Frantz Materne, running to meet Jean-Claude.
"He is with us, Frantz."
"And Kasper?"
"He has received a little scratch; nothing worth speaking of; you will see them both directly."
At the same moment Catherine threw herself into Hullin's arms.
"Oh! Jean-Claude, what happiness to see you again!"
"Yes," said the brave man, in a sorrowful tone, "there are many who will never behold those they love again."
"Frantz," old Materne was then heard calling out, "here! this way!"
And on all sides nothing was to be seen but people looking for each other, shaking hands and embracing. Others were calling, "Niclau! Sapheri!" but from more than one no answer came.
Then the voices grew hoarse, as if stifling, and ended by being silent. The joy of some, and the consternation of others, imparted a sort of terror to the scene.
Louise was weeping freely in Hullin's arms.
"Ah! Jean-Claude," said Dame Lefévre, "you have got something to hear about that child there. At present I shall not tell you anything, except that we were attacked."
"Oh! yes. We will talk of all that by-and-by. We have no time to lose now," said Hullin. "The pass of the Donon is lost, the Cossacks may be here by daybreak, and we have still many things to do."
He turned the corner and entered the farm; every one followed him. Duchêne had just thrown a fresh log on to the fire. Those faces blackened with powder, still flushed with fighting, their garments torn by bayonets, some stained with blood, advancing from the shadowy darkness outside into the full light cast by the blazing fire, presented a singular and striking spectacle. Kasper had his forehead bound up with his handkerchief, having received a cut from a sabre. His bayonet, the front of his dress, and his long blue cloth gaiters were spotted with blood. As for old Materne, he, thanks to his imperturbable presence of mind, returned safe and sound from the strife and carnage. The remnants of the two troops of Jerôme and Hullin thus found themselves re-united.
There were the same wild figures, inspired by the same energy and the same spirit of vengeance; only the latter, harassed by fatigue, were sitting right and left, on logs of wood, on the edge of the sink, on the low stones of the hearth, with their head between their hands, their elbows on their knees. Others were staring vacantly about them, and not being able to convince themselves of the disappearance of Hans, and Joson, and Daniel, were exchanging questions, which were followed by long intervals of silence. Materne's two sons were holding each other by the arm, as if they were afraid of losing one another, and their father, behind them, leaning against the wall, with his elbow resting on his gun, was regarding them with a contented air. "There they are; I see them," he seemed to be saying to himself; "they are famous fellows! They have both come off with whole skins." And the worthy man coughedgently behind his hand. If any one came to him to ask about Pierre, or Jacques, or Nicolas, he would answer at random: "Yes, yes; there are plenty of them down below there lying on their backs. But what would you have? It's the fortune of war. Your Nicolas has done his duty. You must console yourself with that." And in the meanwhile he was thinking to himself: "Mine are not left in the lurch; that's what I care about most."
Catherine was laying the table, assisted by Louise. In a short time, Duchêne came up from the cellar with a barrel of wine on his shoulder, which he placed on the dresser; he tapped it, and then every one of the mountaineers brought his glass, his mug, or his jug, and filled it from the purple stream that glistened in the blazing light of the fire.
"Eat and drink!" cried the good farm-mistress; "it is not over yet, and you've still need of all your strength. Here, Frantz, take down those hams for me. Here is bread, knives; and now sit down, my children."
Frantz made a spit of his bayonet, and hung up the hams in the wide fire-place.
They drew the benches forward, they sat down, and, in spite of their grief, proceeded to eat with that vigorous appetite of which neither present griefs nor cares for the future can wholly deprive strong men. But that did not prevent a poignant sorrow clutching at the heart of these brave fellows, and first one and then another would suddenly stop, and, laying down his fork, quit the table, saying, "I have had enough."
While the mountaineers were thus repairing their strength, their leaders were assembled in the next room, making fresh dispositions for the defence. They weresitting round the table, lighted by a solitary tin lamp; Doctor Lorquin, with his great dog Pluto by his side, Jerôme in the angle of a window on the right, Hullin on the left, quite pale. Marc Divès, with his elbow on the table, his cheek on his hand, had his broad shoulders turned to the door: he only showed his brown profile and one of the corners of his long moustache. Materne alone remained standing, as usual, against the wall, behind Lorquin's chair, his gun at his feet. From the kitchen came the hum of voices.
When Catherine, sent for by Hullin, entered, she heard a sort of groaning sound which caused her to start. It was Hullin who was speaking.
"All those brave lads, all those fathers of families who fell one after the other," he was saying, in a tone of bitter grief, "do you think that it does not wring my very heart? Do you think that I would not rather a thousand times over have been massacred myself? Ah! You know not what I have suffered this night! To lose your own life is nothing, but to bear alone the weight of such a responsibility——!"
He was silent, but the quivering of his lips, a tear that rolled slowly down his cheek, his very attitude, all showed the scruples of the honest man, and that he found himself in a situation where conscience herself hesitates and seeks fresh support. Catherine went very gently and seated herself in a large arm-chair on the left. After a few seconds, Hullin added, in a calmer tone: "Between eleven o'clock and midnight, Zimmer arrived, shouting, 'We are taken in the rear! The Germans are coming down from the Grosmann; Labarbe is dead; Jerôme cannot hold out any longer!' And then he said no more. What was to be done?Could I beat a retreat? Could I abandon a position which had cost us so much blood, the pass of the Donon, the road to Paris? If I had done so, should I not have been a poltroon? But I had only three hundred men against four thousand at Grandfontaine, and I don't know how many who came down from the mountain! Well, cost what it would, I resolved to hold out. It was our duty. I said to myself: 'Life is nothing without honour! We will all die; but it shall never be said that we have surrendered the road to France. No, no; it shall never be said!'"
As he spoke these words, Hullin's voice again shook with emotion, his eyes filled with tears, and he added: "We held our post; my brave children held it until two o'clock. I saw them fall around me. As they fell they shouted: 'Hurrah for France!' At the beginning of the action, I had sent to warn Piorette. He arrived at full speed, with about fifty good men. It was already too late; the enemy poured down on us right and left; they held three parts of the ground, and drove us back into the fir-forests on the side of the Blanru; we could not stand against their fire. All that I could do was to collect my wounded, those who were still able to drag themselves away, and place them under the escort of Piorette. About a hundred of my men joined him. For myself, I kept only fifty to go and occupy the Falkenstein. We cut our way through the Germans who would have stopped our retreat. Fortunately the night was dark; but for that, not a soul among us would have escaped. This, then, is the state of things with us; all is lost! The Falkenstein alone is left to us, and we are reduced to three hundred men. The thing is now to know whether we are determined to goon to the end. For myself, I have told you it is painful to me to bear such a heavy responsibility alone. As long as it was a question of defending the pass of the Donon, there could be no doubt about the matter: every one owes his life to his country; but this pass is lost; we should want ten thousand men to enable us to re-take it, and at this very moment the enemy is entering Lorraine. Now then, what is to be done?"
"We must go on to the end," said Jerôme.
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the others.
"Is this your opinion, Catherine?"
"Certainly!" exclaimed the old farm-mistress, whose features expressed inflexible firmness.
Then Hullin, in a firmer tone, proceeded to disclose his plan.
"The Falkenstein is our point of retreat. It is our arsenal; it is there that we have our ammunition; the enemy know it, and will attempt to storm it. To prevent that, we must all of us here present hasten thither to its defence; all the country round must see us, so that they may be able to say—Catherine Lefévre, Jerôme, Materne and his sons, Hullin, Doctor Lorquin, are there. They will not lay down their arms! This thought will reanimate the courage of all honest people. At the same time, Piorette will hold himself in readiness in the woods; his followers will increase every day. The country will soon be over-run with Cossacks—with robbers of every description. As soon as the enemy shall have entered Lorraine, I will make a signal to Piorette; he will throw himself between the Donon and the road, and all the stragglers scattered over the mountain will be caught, as in a net. We may also profit by favourable chances to carry offthe convoys of the Germans, harass their reserves, and, if fortune favours us as we must hope, and all these kaiserlicks should be beaten in Lorraine by our army, we shall then be able to cut off their retreat."
Every one rose, and Hullin, entering the kitchen, made this simple address to the mountaineers:
"My friends, we have just decided to resist to the very last. At the same time, every one is free to do as he likes, to lay down his arms, to return to his village; but let those who desire to avenge themselves assemble with us; they shall share our last bit of bread and our last cartridge."
The old bargeman Colon rose and said:
"Hullin, we are all with you; we have begun to fight all together, and we shall finish all together."
"Yes, yes!" cried out all the others.
"You have all decided, then? Very well! listen to me. Jerôme's brother will take the command."
"My brother is dead," interrupted Jerôme; "he is lying on the side of the Grosmann."
There was a moment's silence; then, in a firm voice, Hullin continued:
"Colon, you will take the command of all those who are left, with the exception of the men who formed the escort of Catherine Lefévre, and whom I shall retain with me. You will go and rejoin Piorette in the valley of the Blanru by the way of the Two Rivers."
"And the ammunition?" inquired Marc Divès.
"I have brought back my waggon," said Jerôme; "Colon can make use of it."
"Let the sleigh be got ready as well," exclaimed Catherine; "when the Cossacks come they will plunder everything. We must not let our people go awayempty-handed; let them take away the oxen, the cows, and the goats; let them carry off everything; it is so much lost for the enemy."
Five minutes after, the farm was being completely stripped of everything; they were loading the sleigh with hams, smoked meats, bread; leading the cattle from the stables, harnessing the horses to the great waggon; and in a short time the convoy set out on its march, with Robin at the head, and the volunteers behind, pushing at the wheels. When it had disappeared in the woods, and silence suddenly succeeded to all this noise, Catherine, as she turned round, saw Hullin behind her as pale as death.
"Well, Catherine," said he, "all is settled."
Frantz, Kasper, and those who formed the escort, all stood ready armed and waiting in the kitchen.
"Duchêne," said the brave woman, "do you go down to the village; we must not have the enemy ill-treating you on my account."
The old servant then, shaking his white head, and with his eyes full of tears, replied:
"So that I but die here, Madame Lefévre. It is fifty years since I first came to the farm. Do not force me to go away from it; it would be my death."
"As you will, my poor Duchêne," replied Catherine, greatly moved at this proof of her old servant's fidelity. "Here are the keys of the house."
And the poor old man went and sat down on a stool beside the hearth, with his eyes fixed, and his mouth half open, like one lost in a sad and bewildering dream.
They set out on their way to the Falkenstein. Marc Divès on horseback, his long rapier in his hand, formedthe rear-guard. Frantz and Hullin were on the left overlooking the mountain side; Kasper and Jerôme on the right of the valley; Materne and the men of the escort surrounded the women.
Strange to say, in front of the cottages of the village of Charmes, on the doorsteps of the houses, at the casements, at the windows, appeared faces young and old, watching with curious eyes this flight of Dame Lefévre, and evil tongues did not spare her.
"Ah! she's come to ruin at last," said they. "This comes of meddling with what does not concern you!"
Others made the reflection aloud that Catherine had been rich quite long enough, and that it was now her turn to come down in the world. As for the industry, the wisdom, the goodness of heart, and all the other virtues of the good old farm-mistress, the patriotism of Jean-Claude, the courage of Jerôme, and Materne and his two sons, the disinterestedness of Doctor Lorquin, the devotion of Marc Divès, no one said anything about them—they were conquered!
illustration
CHAPTER XXIV.
At the bottom of the valley of the Bouleaux, about two gun-shots from the village of Charmes, on the left, the little troop began to ascend slowly the footpath of the oldburg. Hullin, remembering that he had followed the same road when he went to buy powder of Marc Divès, could not help a feeling of deep sadness from stealing over him. Then, in spite of his journey to Phalsbourg, in spite of the spectacle of the wounded of Hanau and of Leipzic, in spite of the old sergeant's recital, he despaired of nothing; he preserved all his energy, and had no fear of the success of the defence. How all was lost: the enemy was descending on Lorraine, the mountaineers were flying. Marc Divès was riding slowly by the side of the wall through the snow; his big horse, accustomed, no doubt, to this journey, kept neighing, tossing up his head, and dropping it down again on his breast, in sudden jerks. The smuggler turned round in his saddle from time to time, to throw a glance back on the farm of Bois-des-Chênes they were quitting. Suddenly he exclaimed:
"Hi! here are the Cossacks in sight!"
At this exclamation all the troops halted to look about. They were already a good way up the mountain, above the village and even the farm of Bois-des-Chênes.The gray wintry dawn was dispersing the mists of morning, and amid the recesses of the mountain were visible the forms of several Cossacks, with head erect, pistol in hand, approaching at a slow pace the old homestead. They were advancing cautiously, and seemed as if they feared a surprise. A few moments after, others appeared in sight, ascending the valley of the Houx, then others still, and all in the same attitude, standing up in their stirrups, to see as far off as possible, like men who are hoping to discover something. The first comers, having passed the farm and observing nothing threatening, waved their lances and wheeled half-round. All the others then galloped up to the spot, like crows following one of their number who has taken wing, supposing he has just discovered a prey. In a few seconds the farm was surrounded, the door opened. Two minutes later, there was a crashing of glass, and out through the windows came furniture, mattrasses, and linen tumbling about in all directions. Catherine, with her hooked nose drawn down to her very lip, looked calmly on this scene of ravage. For a long time she said nothing, but suddenly seeing Yégof, whom she had not perceived until then, strike Duchêne with the butt of his lance, and push him out of the farm, she could not restrain a cry of indignation:
"Oh! the brute! What a coward he must be to strike a poor old man, who cannot defend himself. Ah! the wretch!"
"Come, Catherine," said Jean-Claude, "we've seen enough of it; there's no good in feasting your eyes on that!"
"You are right," said the old farm-mistress; "letus go: I should be tempted to go down among them to avenge myself single-handed."
The higher they ascended the mountain, the clearer and sharper grew the air. Louise, the true daughter of theHeimathslôs, with a little basket of provisions on her arm, was climbing the steep side at the head of the troop. The pale blue sky, the plains of Alsace and Lorraine, and, quite on the verge of the horizon, those of Champagne, all that boundless expanse stretching far as the eye could reach, excited in her breast feelings of the deepest enthusiasm. She seemed as if she had wings to skim the azure vault of heaven, like those great birds which sweep down from the tops of the trees to the abyss below uttering their cry of freedom. All the miseries of this lower world, all its injustices and its sufferings, were forgotten. In fancy Louise again saw herself just a little creature on the back of her mother, the poor strolling gipsy, and said to herself: "I was never more happy, never had less care, never laughed and sang so much! And yet we often wanted bread then. Ah! those were happy days!" And then snatches of old songs would come back to her mind.
At the approaches to the rock, which was of a reddish-brown, incrusted with large black and white pebbles, and inclining over the precipice like the arches of an immense cathedral, Louise and Catherine stopped in an ecstacy of surprise and delight at the scene that lay before them. Overhead, the firmament appeared to them still more spacious, the path cut in the rock still narrower. The valleys stretching away far out of sight, the endless woods, the distant lakes and pools of Lorraine, the narrow streamlet of the Rhine like a blueriband on their right. This grand spectacle touched them deeply, and the old farm-mistress said, with a sort of enthusiasm:
"Jean-Claude, He who has cut this rock that towers to the skies, who has hollowed out these valleys, who has planted the trees, the shrubs, and the mosses of the forest, He will render us the justice we deserve."
As they stood thus regarding the steep and lofty rock, Marc Divès led his horse into a cavern near at hand, then he returned, and beginning the ascent before them, he said to them:
"Take care; it is very slippery."
At the same time he pointed out to them, on their right, the blue precipice with the tops of the tall fir-trees at the bottom.
Every one became silent until they came to the terrace where the vault began. Arrived there, each one seemed to breathe more freely. They saw, about halfway, the smugglers, Brenn, Pfeifer, and Toubac, with their large gray cloaks, and black felt hats, sitting round a fire which seemed to extend the whole length of the rock. Marc Divès said to them:
"Here we are. Thekaiserlickshave got the upper hand. Zimmer has been killed to-night. Is Hexe-Baizel up above there?"
"Yes," replied Brenn, "she is making cartridges."
"They may be of use still," said Marc; "keep your eye open, and if you see any one approaching, fire upon him."
The Maternes had stopped on the edge of the rock, and those three tall red fellows, their felt hats pushed back, their powder-flask on their hip, carbine on shoulder, long muscular legs firmly planted on the solid point ofthe rock, formed a strange and striking group. Old Materne, with outstretched hand, was pointing out at a distance, very far off, an almost imperceptible white speck in the middle of the fir forests, saying:
"Do you know what that is, boys?"
And they all three looked at it with half-closed eyes.
"It is our house," replied Kasper.
"Poor Magrédel!" replied the old huntsman, after a moment's silence. "How uneasy she must have been for the last week! What vows has she not offered up for us to Saint Odile!"
Just at this moment, Marc Divès, who was in front, uttered a cry of surprise. "Dame Lefévre," said he, suddenly stopping short, "the Cossacks have set fire to your farm!"
Catherine received this news with the utmost calmness, and advanced to the very edge of the terrace; Louise and Jean-Claude followed her. The bottom of the abyss was covered with a thick white cloud; through this cloud was to be seen a bright spark in the direction of Bois-des-Chênes, and nothing more; but at intervals, when there was a gust of wind, the fire was distinctly visible. The two tall black gables, the haystack on fire, the little stables with flames bursting from them; then all disappeared again.
"'Tis already nearly over," said Hullin, in a low voice.
"Yes," replied the old farm-mistress, "there goes forty years of labour and toil; but no matter—they cannot burn our good lands, the broad meadows of the Eichmath. We will set to work again. Gaspard and Louise will put that all right. I do not repent of what I have done."
After about a quarter of an hour, there was a regular volley of sparks, and then the whole lay in ruins. The black gables alone were left standing. They then resumed their way up the steep and rocky footpath. As they reached the upper terrace, they heard the sharp voice of Hexe-Baizel:
"Is it you, Catherine?" she exclaimed. "Ah! I never thought that you would come and see me in my poor hole."
Hexe-Baizel and Catherine Lefévre had formerly been school-fellows together, so they now addressed each other in a familiar manner.
"Nor I either," replied the old farm-mistress; "but no matter, Baizel, in misfortune we are always glad to meet with an old friend of our childhood." Baizel seemed touched by the remark.
"All that is here, Catherine, is yours," she exclaimed—"all!"
She pointed to her poor stool, her besom of green broom, and the five or six billets of wood on her hearth. Catherine looked around for some moments in silence, and said:
"It is not much, but it is solid; one comfort, they will not burn your house down."
"No, they will not burn it," said Hexe-Baizel, with a laugh; "they would want a large quantity of wood even to warm it a little. He! he! he!"
The volunteers, after so many fatigues, felt in need of repose, so every one hastened to rest his gun against the wall, and to stretch himself upon the ground. Marc Divès opened the door of the inner cavern for them, where they were at least under shelter; then he went out with Hullin to examine the position.
CHAPTER XXV.
On the rock of the Falkenstein, at its very highest point, rises a round tower hollowed out at its base. This tower, covered with brambles, white thorns, and myrtles, seems as old as the mountain itself. Neither French, Germans, nor Swedes have been able to destroy it. The stone and the cement are united so firmly, that not the least fragment can be detached. It has a gloomy and mysterious aspect, which carries you back to bygone times to which the memory of man cannot reach. At the period of the passage of the wild geese, Marc Divès used frequently to lie in ambush there when he had nothing better to do, and sometimes at the fall of day, just as the flocks were arriving through the mist, and describing a large circuit before retiring to rest, he would bring down two or three, to the great delight of Hexe-Baizel, who was always very eager to put them on the spit. Often, too, in the autumn, Marc would spread his nets among the bushes, into which the thrushes would drop without even a struggle; so that, in short, the old tower served him as a sort of storehouse.
How many times had Hexe-Baizel, when the north wind blew hard enough to tear the horns from off the oxen, and the noise, the cracking of the branches, and the hoarse groaning of the surrounding forests ascended on high like the clamour of an angry sea—how many timeshad Hexe-Baizel been nearly carried away as far as the Kilbéri opposite? But she would cling to the bushes with both hands, and the wind but succeeded in shaking out her red locks.
Divès, having noticed that his wood, from being often covered with snow and steeped with rain, gave out more smoke than flame, had sheltered the old tower with a roof made of planks. On this subject the smuggler had a singular story to relate: He asserted that he had discovered while fixing the rafters, at the bottom of a fissure, an owl as white as snow, blind, and feeble, provided in abundance with field-mice and bats. For this reason he had christened her theGrandmother of the Land, supposing that all the birds came and brought her food on account of her extreme old age and feebleness.
At the close of this day, the mountaineers placed in observation, like the dwellers in a vast hotel, on all the ridges of the rock, saw the white uniforms appear in the neighbouring gorges. They were issuing in vast masses from all sides at once, which showed clearly their intention of blockading the Falkenstein. Marc Divès, seeing that, grew more thoughtful.
"If they surround us," thought he, "we shall no longer be able to procure provisions; we shall have to surrender or perish with hunger."
They could perfectly distinguish the staff officers of the enemy's forces, riding leisurely round the fountain in the village of Charmes. There, too, was one of the great leaders, heavy of body, with a fat paunch, who was surveying the rock with a long telescope; behind him stood Yégof, whom the officer turned round from time to time to question. The women and childrenformed a circle further off, looking wonderingly on, and five or six Cossacks were caracoling round. The smuggler could not restrain himself any longer; he took Hullin aside:
"Look," said he, "at that long file of shakos appearing all along the Sarre; and on this side too, others who are ascending from the valley like hares, with long strides; they arekaiserlicks, are they not? Well, what are they going to do there, Jean-Claude?"
"They are going to surround the mountain."
"That is very clear. How many do you think there are?"
"From three to four thousand men."
"Without counting those who are dispersed throughout the country. Well, what would you have Piorette do against this host of vagabonds, with his three hundred men? I ask you that plainly, Hullin."
"He can do nothing," replied the brave man, simply. "The Germans know that our ammunition is at the Falkenstein; they fear a rising after their entry into Lorraine, and wish to protect their rear. Their general has discovered that he cannot subdue us by main force; he has resolved to reduce us by famine. All that, Marc, is positive, but we are men, we will do our duty; we will die here!"