At the end of the dark alley was the yard of the farm, into which one descended by five or six well-worn steps. On the left were the granary and the wine-press; to the right the stables and pigeon-cot, the gables of which stood out black on the dark cloudy sky; and in front of the door was the laundry.
No sound from the outside reached the yard. After so many tumultuous scenes, Hullin was impressed by the deep silence. He looked up at the piles of straw hanging from the beams of the granary roof, the ploughs and carts in the shadows of the outhouses, and an inexpressible feeling of calm and repose came over him. A cock was roosting quietly among the hens on the wall. A big cat, darting quickly by, disappeared through a hole into the cellar. Hullin thought himself in a dream.
After a few moments spent in silent contemplation, he walked slowly toward the laundry, the three windows of which shone brightly in the darkness: for the farm-kitchen not being large enough for preparing food for three or four hundred men, it was now being used for the purposes of cooking.
Master Jean-Claude heard Louise's clear voice giving orders in a resolute tone, which astonished him.
"Now, Katel, quick! supper-time is near. Our people must be hungry. Since six in the morning they have taken nothing, and have been fighting all the time. They must not be kept waiting. Come, bestir yourself, Lesselé; bring the salt and pepper!"
Jean-Claude's heart leaped within him at the sound of this voice. He could not help gazing for a minute through the window before entering.
The kitchen was large, with low whitewashed ceiling. A beechwood fire crackled on the hearth, its red flames encircling the sides of an immense kettle. The charming figure of Louise, wearing her short petticoat so as to move unimpeded, a bright color in her face, the short red body of her dress leaving uncovered her round shoulders and white neck, stood out clearly in the foreground. She was in all the bustle of the occasion, coming and going, tasting the soup and sauces with a knowing air, and approving and criticising everything.
"A little more salt! Lesselé, have you almost done plucking that great lean cock? At this rate we shall never have finished!"
It was delightful to see her thus busily commanding. It brought tears into Hullin's eyes.
The two daughters of the anabaptist—one tall, thin, and pale, with her large flat feet encased in round shoes, her red hair fastened up in a little black cap, her blue stuff dress falling in folds to her heels; the other fat, slowly lifting up one foot after the other, and waddling along like a duck—forming a striking contrast to Louise.
The stout Katel went panting about without saying a word, while Lesselé performed everything in her sleepy methodical way.
The worthy anabaptist himself, seated at the end of the room, with his legs crossed on a wooden chair, his cotton cap on his head, and his hands in his blouse pockets, looked on with a wondering air, addressing to them sententious exhortations from time to time: "Lesselé, Katel! be obedient, my children. Let this be for your instruction. You have not yet seen the world. You must be quicker and sharper."
"Yes, yes, you must bestir yourselves," added Louise. "Gracious! what should become of us if we stood thinking months and weeks before putting a little onion into a sauce! Lesselé, you are the tallest, unhook me that parcel of onions from the ceiling."
The girl obeyed.
Hullin had never felt prouder in his life.
"How she makes them move about!" thought he. "Ah! ha! ha! she is like a little hussar. I never should have believed it."
After having watched them for five minutes, he went into the room.
"Well done, my children!"
Louise was holding a soup-ladle at the time. She let it fall, and threw herself into his arms, crying: "Papa Jean-Claude, is it you? you are not wounded? Nothing is the matter with you?"
At the sound of this voice, Hullin turned pale, and could make no reply. After a long silence, pressing her to his heart, he said: "No, Louise, I am quite well; I am very happy."
"Sit down, Jean-Claude," said the anabaptist, seeing him trembling with emotion; "here, take my chair."
Hullin sat down, and Louise, with her arms on his shoulder, began to cry.
"What is the matter, my child?" said the worthy man, kissing her. "Come, calm thyself. Only a few seconds ago thou wert so courageous."
"Oh, yes, but I was only acting; I was very much afraid. I thought, 'Why does he not come?'"
She threw her arms round his neck. Then a strange idea came into her head. She took him by the hand, crying: "Papa Jean-Claude, let us dance, let us dance!"
And they made three or four turns. Hullin could not help laughing, and turning toward the grave anabaptist, said: "We are rather mad, Pelsly; do not let that astonish you."
"No, Master Hullin, it is quite natural. King David himself danced before the ark after his great victory over the Philistines."
Jean-Claude, astonished to find that he was like King David, made no reply.
"And thou, Louise," he continued, stopping, "thou wert not afraid during this last battle?"
"Oh, at first, with all the noise and the roaring of the cannons; but afterward I only thought of you and of Mamma Lefèvre."
Master Jean-Claude grew silent again.
"I knew," thought he, "that she was a brave girl. She has everything in her favor."
Louise taking him by the hand, then led him to a regiment of pans around the fire, and showed him with delight her kitchen.
"Here is the beef and roast mutton, here is General Jean-Claude's supper, and here is the soup for our wounded. Haven't we been busy! Lesselé and Katel would tell you so. And here is our bread," said she, pointing to a long row of loaves arranged on the table. "Mamma Lefèvre and I mixed up the flour."
Hullin looked on astonished.
"But that is not all," said she; "come over here."
She took off the lid of a saucepan, and the kitchen was immediately filled with a savory odor which would have rejoiced the heart of a gourmand.
Jean-Claude was deeply touched by all these proofs of attention to the wants of his men.
Just then Mother Lefèvre came in.
"Well," said she, "prepare the table; everybody is waiting over there. Come, Katel, go and lay the cloth."
The girl went running out to do so.
They all crossed the dark yard and made their way toward the large room. Doctor Lorquin, Dubois, Marc Divès, Materne, and his two boys, all very hungry, were awaiting the soup impatiently.
"How about our wounded, doctor?" said Hullin, on entering.
"They have all been attended to, Master Jean-Claude. You have given us plenty of work to do; but the weather is favorable; there is nothing to fear from putrid fevers; things wear a pleasant aspect."
Katel, Lesselé, and Louise soon came in bearing an immense tureen of smoking soup and two sirloins of roast beef, which they deposited on the table. They all sat down without ceremony—old Materne to the right of Jean-Claude, Catherine Lefèvre to the left; and from that time the clatter of spoons and forks and the gurgling of the bottles took the place of conversation till half-past eight in the evening. The glow which might be seen from the outside upon the windows, proved that the volunteers were doing justice to Louise's cookery, which contributed greatly to the enjoyment of her guests.
At nine o'clock Marc Divès was on his way to Falkenstein with the prisoners. At ten everybody was asleep at the farm, on the plateau, and around the watchfires. The silence was only broken by the passing of the patrols and the challenge of the sentinels.
Thus terminated, this great day, after the mountaineers had proved that they had not degenerated from their ancestors.
Other events, not less important, were soon to succeed those which had already taken place: for in this world, when one obstacle is surmounted, others present themselves. Human life resembles a restless sea: one wave follows another from the old world to the new, and nothing arrests its ever-lasting movement.
All through the battle, till the close of night, the good people of Grandfontaine had observed the poor crazy Yégof standing upon the crest of the Little Donon, and, his crown on his head, with his sceptre held aloft, like a Merovingian king, shouting commands to his phantom armies. What passed through his mind when he saw the utter rout of the Germans no one can say; but at the last cannon-shot he disappeared. Where did he betake himself? On this point the people of Tiefenbach have the following story:—
At that time there lived upon the Bocksberg two singular creatures—sisters—one named "little Kateline," and the other "great Berbel." These creatures, who were almost in tatters, had taken up their abode in the "Cave of Luitprandt," so called, according to old chronicles, because the German king, before invading Alsace, had caused to be interred in that immense vault of red sandstone the savage chiefs who had fallen in the battle of Blutfeld. The hot spring which always bubbles in the middle of the cavern protected the eerie sisters from the sharp colds of winter; and the woodcutter, Daniel Horn, of Tiefenbach, had been good enough to fill up the largest entrance to the rock with heaps of brushwood. By the side of the hot spring there is another, cold as ice and clear as crystal. Kateline, who always drank of its waters, was scarce four foot high, thick-set and bloated; and her cowering figure, her round eyes and enormous goitre, rendered her whole appearance peculiarly suggestive of a big turkey-hen in a reverie. Every Sunday she carried into Tiefenbach a great basket, which the people of the place filled with boiled potatoes, crusts of bread, and occasionally, on high days, with cakes and other remains of their festivals;—with which she reascended breathlessly to her rocky home, muttering, gibbering, and behaving in the absurdest way. Meanwhile Berbel took care to drink from the cold spring: she was gaunt, one-eyed, scraggy as a bat, with a flat nose, large ears, a gleaming eye, and thrived upon the booty obtained by her sister. Seldom did she descend from the Bocksberg, except in July, at the time of greatest heat—when she proceeded to launch her incantations—her enchanting-wand a withered thistle—against the crops of those who had failed to contribute to her sister's basket. These imprecations were always believed to be followed by dire storms, hail, and destructive vermin without stint: whence they came to be dreaded as the plague, and the hag herself to be regarded as a weather-witch (Wetterhexe), while "little Kateline" was looked upon as the good genius of Tiefenbach and its neighborhood. In such wise Berbel folded her arms and took her ease in her cave, while her sister went gibbering along the highways.
Unfortunately for the sisters, Yégof had for many years established his winter-quarters in "Luitprandt's cavern;" and it was thence he set forth every spring on a visit to his innumerable châteaux and feudatories, as far as Geierstein in the Hundsrück. Every year, therefore, toward the end of November, after the first snows, he arrived with his raven, to the accompaniment of piercing cries from Wetterhexe.
"What have you to grumble at?" he would say, while installing himself in the place of honor. "Are you not intruders upon my domain, and am I not truly good to permit two such useless old hags (Valkyries) to stay in the Valhalla of my fathers?"
Then Berbel, in a rage, used to overwhelm him with abuse, while Kateline gave vent to her dissatisfaction in thick unintelligible utterances; but he, regardless of both, lit his old box pipe and set himself to describe his endless peregrinations to the ghosts of the German warriors buried in the cavern sixteen centuries before, calling upon each of them by name, and addressing them as personages still living. From this it will be understood with what disgust the arrival of the maniac came to be regarded by Kateline and Berbel; in fact for both it was nothing less than a calamity.
Now in the year we are speaking of, Yégof, having failed to return to them at the proper time, induced the sisters to believe that he was dead and to rejoice at the idea of seeing no more of him. But for many days Wetterhexe had remarked an extraordinary movement going on in the neighboring gorges, and men marching off in bodies, shouldering their muskets, from the sides of Falkenstein and Donon. Clearly something was taking place out of the common. Recollecting that the year before Yégof had informed the phantoms of the cave that his armies, in countless hosts, were coming to invade the country, the sorceress was seized with a vague apprehension and anxiety to learn the cause of so much agitation; but no one came up to the cave, and Kateline having made her rounds on the previous Sunday, could not have been induced to stir out for the gift of a kingdom.
In this state of apprehension, Wetterhexe went and came upon the side of the mountain and became hourly more restless and irritable. During the whole of that Saturday events assumed quite another aspect. From nine o'clock in the morning deep and heavy explosions began to growl like a continuous storm among the thousand echoes of the mountain; while far away in the direction of Donon, the swift lightnings swept up across the sky among the peaks; then toward night the discharges deepening in intensity filled the silent gorges with an indescribable tumult. At every report the Hengst, the Gantzlee, the Giromani, and the Grosmann cliffs seemed to echo to their lowest depths.
"What can it be?" cried Berbel. "Has the end of the world come?"
Then re-entering her lurking-place, and finding Kateline crouched in her corner and munching a potato, Berbel shook her roughly and hissed out:—"Fool! have you got no ears? Is there anything that you fear? You are good for nothing but eating, drinking, and mumbling. Oh, you idiot!"
She snatched away the potato in a rage, and then seated herself by the side of the hot spring, which was sending up its gray fumes to the roof. Half an hour after, the darkness having become intense and the cold excessive, she made a fire of brushwood, which shed its pale gleams upon the blocks of red sandstone and lit up the farthest corner of the cave, where Kateline was now asleep, huddled in the straw, with her chin upon her knees. Without, the noisy tumult had ceased. Then withdrawing the brushwood curtain from the mouth of the cave, she peered out into the darkness, and returned to crouch down, by the spring. With her large lips compressed, her eyes closed, and the great round wrinkles playing upon her cheeks, she drew round her knees an old woollen covering, and appeared to fall asleep. Throughout the cavern there was no sound, except that of the congealed vapor, which fell back at long intervals into the spring with a strange splashing noise.
This silence lasted for about two hours; midnight was approaching, when all of a sudden a distant sound of footsteps, mingled with discordant cries, was heard outside the cave. Berbel listened, and at once perceived that they were human cries. Then she rose, trembling, and, armed with her thistle-wand, proceeded to the entrance of the cave; whence, through the screen of brushwood, she saw, at fifty paces distant, Yégof advancing toward her in the moonlight. He was alone, but gesticulating and waving his sceptre, as if myriads of invisible beings were about him.
"Hark, ye red men!" he was shrieking, with, beard sticking up on end, his hair streaming about his head, and his dog-skin upon his arm. "Hark, ye red men! Roog! Bled! Adelrik! hark! Will ye not hear me at last? Do you not see they are coming? Behold them cleaving the sky like vultures. Hark to me. Let this miserable race be annihilated! Ha, ha! it is you, Minau! it is you, Rochart ... ha! ha!" And addressing the dead upon the Donon, he called upon them defiantly, as if they were standing before him; and then fell back a step at a time, striking the air, uttering imprecations, encouraging his phantoms, and casting about him as if in close fight. The sight of this terrible struggle against beings who were invisible caused Berbel to shudder with fright, and to fancy her hair stiffening upon her head. She sought to hide herself; but just at the moment a strange noise from behind drew her attention, and her terror may be imagined when she saw the hot spring bubbling with more than usual activity and sending out clouds of steam, which rose and broke away in separate masses toward the entrance of the cavern; and while these clouds like phantoms were slowly advancing in close order, Yégof appeared upon the scene, shouting hoarsely:—
"You come at last! you heard me then!"
Thus saying, he removed with an impatient effort all obstructions from the mouth of the cave: the cold air rushed down the vault and the steaming vapors rose far into the sky, writhing and glancing above the cliff, as if the slain of that day and those of the ages gone by had recommenced beyond the earth a battle that would never end.
Yégof, with face which appeared shrunken in the pale moonlight, his sceptre held high, his great beard flowing down his breast, and his eyes flaming, saluted each phantom with a wave of the hand, addressing it by name:
"Hail, Bled! Roog, hail! and you, my brave men, all hail! The hour you have been expecting for ages is at hand: the eagles are whetting their beaks and the soil is thirsting for blood. Remember Blutfeld!"
YÉGOF SALUTED EACH PHANTOM WITH SPARKLING EYES.YÉGOF SALUTED EACH PHANTOM WITH SPARKLING EYES.
YÉGOF SALUTED EACH PHANTOM WITH SPARKLING EYES.YÉGOF SALUTED EACH PHANTOM WITH SPARKLING EYES.
At this point Berbel's terror seemed to hold her transfixed; but soon the last volumes of gray mist disappeared out of the cavern and melted into the sky. Seeing which the crazy montagnard marched fiercely into the cave, and seating himself by the spring, with his great head between his hands, and his elbows on his knees, looked down into the boiling water with a haggard stare.
Kateline was now awake and venting her guttural moans; while Wetterhexe, more dead than alive, was furtively watching the maniac from the farthest corner of the cave.
"They have all gone up from the earth!" exclaimed Yégof, suddenly. "All, all! They have gone to reanimate the courage of my youths, and inspire them with contempt of death!"
And again lifting up his face, which seemed impressed with deep anguish, he cried, fixing his wolfish eyes on Wetterhexe:—
"Oh, thou descendant of the sterile valkyries, thou who hast nurtured within thy bosom no life-breath of warriors, nor ever filled their deep goblets at the festive board, nor regaled them with the smoking flesh of the wild boar, for what purpose art thou good? To spin shrouds for the dead. Ha! take thy distaff and spin night and day; for thousands of brave men are slumbering in the snow! ... They fought well.... Yes, they did all that men could do; but the time had not come, ... now the ravens are fighting for their carcasses!"
Then in accents of uncontrollable rage, snatching the crown off his head together with handfuls of hair—"Ah, cursed race," he exclaimed, "will you always be barring our passage? Were it not for you we had already conquered Europe; the red men would have been masters of the world.... And I have bowed my head before the leader of this race of curs.... I asked him for his daughter, instead of seizing and carrying her away as the wolf carries the lamb! ... Ah! Huldrix, Huldrix!"
Then changing this rhapsody—"Listen, listen, valkyrie!" he cried in a hoarse voice, and pointing his finger with great solemnity.
Wetterhexe listened. A great gust of wind rose up through the night, shaking the old forest-trees heavy with their load of frost. Often and often had the sorceress in the winter nights heard the soughing of the north wind and paid it no attention, but now she was overwhelmed with fear! And as she stood there all trembling, a hoarse cry was heard without; and almost at the same time the raven Hans, sweeping beneath the rock, set himself to describe great circles overhead, flapping his wings with a frightened air, and uttering melancholy cries.
Yégof became pale as death. "Vod, Vod! what has thy son Luitprandt done for thee? Why choose him rather than another?"
For some seconds he stood as though amazed: then, suddenly transported by savage enthusiasm and brandishing his sceptre, he dashed out of the cavern.
Two minutes afterward, Wetterhexe, standing at the entrance of the rock, followed him with anxious eyes.
He went straight on, with neck stretched forward and long strides. You would have thought him a wild beast upon the prowl. Hans went before him, hopping from place to place.
In a moment they disappeared down the Blutfeld gorge.
Toward two o'clock the next morning, snow began to fall. At daybreak the Germans had left Grandfontaine, Framont, and even Schirmeck. In the distance, on the plains of Alsace, could be seen the black lines, which indicated their retreating battalions.
Hullin arose early and made the round of the bivouacs. He stopped for a few seconds on the plateau, to look at the cannons in position, the sleeping partisans, and the watchful sentries; then, satisfied with his inspection, he re-entered the farm, where Louise and Catherine were still asleep.
The gray light was spreading everywhere. A few wounded in the next room were growing feverish; they were calling for their wives and children. Soon the hum of voices and the noise of busy feet broke the stillness of the night. Catherine and Louise awoke. They saw Jean-Claude sitting in a corner of the window watching them, and ashamed of having slept longer than he, they arose and approached him.
"Well?" asked Catherine.
"Well, they have left; and we are masters of the field, as I expected."
This assurance did not appear to satisfy the old dame. She looked through the window to see for herself that the Germans were retreating into Alsace; and during the whole of that day she seemed both anxious and troubled.
Between eight and nine the curé Saumaize came in from the village of Charmes. Some mountaineers then descended the slopes to pick up the dead, and dug a deep pit to the right of the farm, where partisans and "kaiserlichs," with their clothes, hats, shakos, and uniforms, were laid side by side. The curé Saumaize, a tall old man with white hair, read the prayers for the dead in that solemn, mysterious voice which seems to penetrate to the depths of one's soul, and to summon from the tomb the spirits of extinct generations to attest to the living the terrors of the grave.
All day carts and sledges continued to arrive to carry away the wounded, who demanded, with loud cries, to be allowed to see their villages once more. Doctor Lorquin, fearing to increase their irritation, was forced to consent. And toward four o'clock, Catherine and Hullin were alone in the great room: Louise had gone out to prepare the supper. Outside, large flakes of snow continued to fall, and, from time to time, a sledge might be seen silently passing along, bearing a wounded man laid in straw. Catherine, seated near the table, was folding bandages with an absent air.
"What ails you, Catherine?" demanded Hullin. "You have seemed so thoughtful since morning: and yet our affairs are going on well."
The old dame, pushing the linen slowly away from her, replied,—"Yes, Jean-Claude, I am uneasy."
"Uneasy about what? The enemy is in full retreat. Only this moment, Frantz Materne, whom I had sent to reconnoitre, and all the messengers from Piorette, Jérome, and Labarbe, told me that the Germans are returning to Mutzig. Old Materne and Kasper, having gathered up the dead, learned at Grandfontaine that nothing is to be seen in the direction of Saint-Blaize-la-Roche. All this proves that our Spanish dragoons gave the enemy a warm reception on the way to Senones, and that they fear an attack from Schirmeck. What is it, then, Catherine, that troubles you?"
And seeing that Hullin looked at her inquiringly, "You may laugh at me," said she; "but I have had a dream."
"A dream?"
"Yes, the same as at the farm of Bois-de-Chênes." And getting animated, she continued, in an almost angry tone, "You may say what you like, Jean-Claude, but a great danger menaces us. Yes, yes! you don't see any sense in all this; but it was not a dream, it was like an old tale which comes back to one: something one sees in sleep and remembers. Listen! We were as we are now, after a great victory—in some place—I don't know where—in a sort of large wooden shed, with beams across it, and palisades around. We were not thinking of anything: all the faces I saw I knew: you were among them, Marc Divès, Duchêne, and old men already dead: my father and old Hugues Rochart of Harberg, the uncle of him who has just died: and they all had coarse gray cloth blouses, with long beards and bare necks. We had won a like victory, and were drinking out of red earthenware pots, when a cry arose: 'The enemy is coming!' And Yégof, on horseback, with his long beard and pointed crown, an axe in his hand, and with his eyes gleaming like a wolf's, appeared before me in the darkness. I rushed on him with a club, he waited for me—and from that moment I saw no more. I only felt a great pain in my neck; a cold wind passed over my face, and my head seemed to be dangling at the end of a cord: it was that wretched Yégof who had hung my head to his saddle and was galloping away!"
There was a short pause; and then Jean-Claude, rousing from his stupor, replied: "It is a dream. I also have had dreams. Yesterday you were agitated, Catherine, by all that tumult, that noise."
"No," she exclaimed in a firm tone, taking up her task again: "no, it was not that. And to tell you the truth, during the battle, and even when, the cannons were thundering against us, I was not afraid; I was certain beforehand that we should not be beaten; I had seen it long ago. But now I am afraid."
"But the Germans have evacuated Schirmeck; the whole line of the Vosges is defended. We have more men than we need; they are coming every minute in great numbers."
"No matter."
Hullin shrugged his shoulders.
"Come, come! you are feverish, Catherine; try to be calm, and think of pleasanter things. As for all these dreams, you see, I make no more account of them than I do of the Grand Turk, with his pipe and blue stockings. The chief thing is to keep a good look-out, and to have plenty of ammunition, men, and guns: that is infinitely better than the most rose-colored dreams."
"You are mocking me, Jean-Claude."
"No; but to hear a sensible, courageous woman speak as you do, reminds one in spite of himself of Yégof, who pretends to have lived sixteen hundred years ago."
"Who knows?" said the old woman, in an obstinate tone; "it is possible he may remember what others have forgotten."
Hullin was going to relate to her his conversation of the evening before at the bivouac-fire with the madman, thus hoping to overthrow all her gloomy fancies; but seeing she agreed with Yégof about the sixteen hundred years, the worthy man said no more, but resumed his walk up and down, with his head bent and an anxious face: "She is mad," thought he; "one more shock and it is all over with her!"
Catherine after a pause was going to speak, when Louise entered like a swallow, calling out, in her sweetest voice, "Maman Lefèvre, Maman Lefèvre, a letter from Gaspard!"
Whereupon the old farm-wife, whose hooked nose almost touched her lips, so angry was she to see Hullin turning her dream into ridicule, raised her head, the long wrinkles in her face relaxing.
She took the letter, looked at the red seal, and said to the young girl: "Embrace me, Louise: it is a good letter!" And Louise at once embraced her with joy.
Hullin came close up to them, delighted at this incident; and the postman Brainstein, his big boots dyed red with the snow, his two hands on his stick, and drooping his shoulders, stationed himself at the door with a tired look.
The old dame put on her spectacles, slowly opened the letter under the impatient eyes of Jean-Claude and Louise, and read aloud:—
"This, my mother, is to announce to you that all goes well, and that I reached Phalsbourg on Tuesday evening just as the gates were being closed. The Cossacks were already on the Saverne road; we had to fire all night against their advanced guard. The following day, an envoy was sent demanding the surrender of the place. The commandant, Meunier, told him to go and be hanged; and three days after great showers of bombs and shells began to rain upon the town. The Russians have three batteries—one on the side of Hittelbronn, the other at the Baraques above, and the third behind the tilery of Pernette near the drinking-tank; but the red-hot shot do us the most harm: they burn down the houses, and when a fire has broken out the bombs then come in quantities and prevent the people from extinguishing it. The women and children do not leave the block-houses; the townsmen remain with us on the ramparts: they are fine fellows. Among them are some old soldiers of the Sambre-et-Meuse, Italy, and Egypt, who have not forgotten how to manage the guns. I felt sorry to see the graybeards bending over the carronades to take aim. I will answer for it that there are no balls lost with them; but all the same, when one has made the world tremble, it is hard to be obliged, in one's old days, to fight for one's home and last morsel of bread."
"Yes, it is hard," exclaimed Catherine, drying her eyes. "Only to think of it makes one's heart bleed."
Then she continued:—
"The day before yesterday, the governor decided on our making a sortie against the tile-kiln battery. You must know that these Russians break the ice of the tank, and bathe in it, in groups of from twenty to thirty; afterward drying themselves in the oven of the brick-kiln. Well! about four o'clock, as the day was closing, we went out by the Arsenal gateway, ascending the covered way, and filing along the Allée-des-Vaches, with our muskets under our arms, and marching at the double. Ten minutes after we commenced a rolling fire on the men that were in the tank. Then their comrades rushed out of the brick-kilns: they had only time to put on their cartouche-boxes, seize their muskets, and form, all naked as they were, on the snow, like regular savages. Notwithstanding that, the rogues were ten times more numerous than we, and they began a movement to the right, in the direction of the little chapel of St. John, in order to surround us, when the guns from the Arsenal began to send such a storm of shot at them as I never saw before; it carried whole files clean off. A quarter of an hour later they retreated in a body to Quatre-Vents, without waiting to pick up their breeches—their officers at their head, and the hail from the fortress bringing up the rear. Papa Jean-Claude would have laughed at the rout immensely. At last, toward nightfall, we returned to the town, having destroyed one of their batteries and thrown two eight-pounders into the well of the kiln. It was our first sortie. I am now writing to you from the Baraques du Bois-de-Chênes, where we have been sent to get provisions for the fortress. All this may last months. It is said that the allies are reascending the valley of Dosenheim as far as Weschem, and that thousands of them are marching on Paris. Oh, if the Emperor once obtained the upper hand in Lorraine and Champagne, not one of them would escape! But who lives will see. They are sounding the retreat on Phalsbourg. We have collected a pretty good number of oxen, cows, and goats about here; but shall have to fight in order to get them in safely. Good-by, my good mother, my dearest Louise, and Papa Jean-Claude. I embrace you as though I held you in my arms."
At the close of the letter, Catherine Lefèvre was overwhelmed with emotion.
"What a brave boy!" said she. "He only knows his duty. There! thou hearest, Louise? He embraces thee!"
Louise then throwing herself into her arms, they embraced each other; and Catherine, notwithstanding the firmness of her character, could not keep back two large tears from trickling down her cheeks; then, recovering herself, "Come," said she, "all is well! Come, Brainstein, you must eat some meat and drink a glass of wine. And here is a crown-piece for your journey; I would give you the same sum every day of the week for such a letter."
The postman, delighted with his present, followed the old dame. Louise walked after them, and Jean-Claude, also, being eager to interrogate Brainstein as to what he had learnt on the road, touching the events taking place; but he could get nothing new out of him, except that the allies were besieging Bitsche and Lutzelstein, and that they had lost some hundreds of men in trying to force the Graufthal pass.
Toward ten o'clock, Catherine Lefèvre and Louise, after having wished Hullin good-night, went up to sleep in the room over the large kitchen; in which there were two feather-beds, with curtains, striped with blue and red, reaching to the ceiling.
"Come," exclaimed the old woman, climbing up to hers on a chair—"come, sleep well, my child. As for me, I am tired out, and almost asleep already."
She drew the bedclothes round her, and five minutes after was sound asleep. Louise soon followed her example.
Now this had lasted about two hours, when the old dame was awakened suddenly by a tremendous noise.
"To arms! to arms! Ho! this way quick! A thousand thunders! they are upon us!"
Five or six shots then followed each other, lighting up the dark windows.
"To arms! to arms!"
Then there was more firing, and the noise of people rushing about everywhere.
Hullin's voice, sharp and vibrating, could be heard giving orders.
Then, to the left of the farm, a great way off, there came a low dull crackling sound, from the gorges of the Grosmann.
"Louise! Louise!" cried the old farm-wife,—"dost thou hear?"
"Yes! Oh, my God! it is terrible."
Catherine sprang out of bed.
"Get up, my child," said she, "and let us dress."
The firing redoubled, and flashed like lightning upon the panes.
"Attention!" shouted Materne.
One could also hear the neighing of a horse outside, and the tramping of a great crowd in the alley, the yard, and before the farm: the house seemed shaken to its foundations.
Suddenly, the firing came from the windows of the large room on the ground-floor. The two women dressed in haste. Just at that moment, a heavy foot creaked on the stairs; the door opened, and Hullin appeared with a lantern, showing signs of great agitation.
"Make haste!" cried he; "we have not an instant to lose."
"What has happened then?" asked Catherine.
The fusillade came nearer.
"Eh!" exclaimed Jean-Claude, throwing up his arms, "have I time now to explain to you?"
The old dame understood that the only thing to be done was to obey. She put on her hood and descended the 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 alley upon the abatis, and ten others behind handing them muskets, so that they had only to aim and fire. All these men, in a throng, loading, shouldering, and firing, had a terrible aspect. Three or four dead bodies lying against the old wall added to the horror of the scene. The smoke was at the point of reaching the dwelling.
Coming down the stairs, Hullin cried, "Here they are, thank heaven!" And all the brave fellows who were there, looking up, cried out, "Courage, Mother Lefèvre!"
Whereupon the poor old lady, worn out by her emotions, began to weep and lean on Jean-Claude's shoulder; but he lifted her up like a feather, and ran along by the wall to the right. Louise followed, sobbing loudly.
Out of doors, one could only hear the whizzing of bullets and the dull heavy blows against the wall; the bricks and mortar were tumbling down, the tiles rolling about; while in front, near the abatis, and three hundred yards off, one could see the white uniforms in line, lit up by their own fire in the dark night; and, to their left, on the other side of the ravine of Minières, the mountaineers attacking them in flank.
Hullin disappeared at the corner of the farm,—where all was in darkness;—Doctor Lorquin, on horseback in front of a sledge, having a large cavalry sword in his hand and two pistols passed through his belt, with Frantz Materne and a dozen other armed men, being barely distinguishable. Hullin placed Catherine in the sledge, on some straw, and Louise by her side.
"There you are!" exclaimed the doctor. "It is well for you."
And Frantz Materne added:—"If it were not for you, Mother Lefèvre, you may well believe that not one of us would quit the plateau this night; but there is nothing to be said since you are in the case."
"No," cried the others, "there is nothing to be said!"
Just at that moment, a tall fellow, with legs long as a heron's and a round back, came running behind the wall and shouting, "They are coming! Fly! fly!"
Hullin turned pale.
"It is the big knife-grinder of the Harberg!" he exclaimed, grinding his teeth.
Frantz without saying a word put his musket to his shoulder, aimed and fired; and Louise saw the grinder at thirty yards in the dim light, throw up his arms and fall face downward on the ground. Frantz reloaded, smiling grimly.
Hullin then said: "Comrades, here is our mother—she who has given us powder and furnished us with food for the defence of our country; and here is my child: save them!"
They all replied: "We will save, or die with, them."
"And do not forget to warn Divès to stay at the Falkenstein till further orders."
"All right, Jean-Claude."
"Then forward, doctor, forward!" cried the gallant man.
"And you, Hullin?" exclaimed Catherine.
"My place is here; our position must be defended till death!"
"Papa Jean-Claude!" cried Louise, holding out her arms to him.
But he had already turned the corner,—the doctor flicked his horse, and the sledge passed quickly along the snow. Frantz Materne and his men, with their muskets on their shoulders, marched behind; while a rolling fire of musketry was still kept up around the farm.
That was what Catherine Lefèvre and Louise saw in the space of a few minutes. No doubt something strange and terrible had happened in the night. The old farm-mistress, recalling her dream, became very thoughtful. Louise dried her eyes and looked toward the plateau, which was lighted up as by a fire. The horse bounded away under the doctor's whip, so that the mountaineers could hardly keep up. For some distance the tumult and clamor of the battle, the explosions, and whizzing of the balls among the branches, were distinctly heard; but all this grew fainter and fainter, and soon, at the descent of the path, vanished as in a dream.
The sledge had reached the opposite side of the mountain, and was flying like an arrow through the darkness. The only sounds which broke the silence were the galloping of the horse, the quick breathing of the escort, and from time to time the doctor's cry, "Here, Bruno! here then!"
A current of cold wind, coming up from the valley of the Sarre, carried upon its breeze, like a great sigh, the endless roar of the torrents and soughing of the woods. The moon was peering out from behind a cloud, and looking down on the black forests of Blanru, with their tall pines loaded with snow.
Ten minutes later the sledge had gained an angle of the woods, and Doctor Lorquin, turning round in his saddle, exclaimed,—"Now, Frantz, what have we to do? Here is the way which leads toward the hills of St. Quirin, and there is another road which descends to Blanru. Which shall we take?"
Frantz and the men of the escort came up. As they were then on the western slope of the Donon, they began to see again, high in the air, on the other side of the hill, the fusillade of the Germans, who were advancing by way of the Grosmann. First they saw the flashes, and then heard the rolling echoes in the depths of the valleys.
"The road by the hills of St. Quirin," said Frantz, "is the shortest cut to the farm of Bois-de-Chênes; it would save at least three-quarters of an hour."
"Yes," rejoined the doctor, "but we should risk being stopped by the Germans, who now occupy the defile of the Sarre. See, they are already masters of the heights; they have no doubt sent detachments to the Sarre-Rouge in order to turn the Donon."
"Let us take the Blanru road, then," said Frantz; "it is longer, but safer."
The sledge passed down the left along the woods. The partisans, gun in hand, advanced one after the other along the top of the bank, while the doctor on his horse swept along the snow in the roadway. Above, the great pine-branches met across the road, and enveloped it with their deep shadows, while the moon lit up the surrounding scenery. This road was so majestic and picturesque, that, under any other circumstances, Catherine would have been astonished at it, and Louise would not have failed to admire the garlands of icicles, looking like crystals in the pale rays of the moon; but just then they were filled with uneasiness; and, moreover, when the sledge entered the gorge, all the brightness vanished, and only the summits of the high mountains around remained visible. They had been going in this way for a quarter of an hour, when Catherine, having kept silence for some time, at last could contain herself no longer, but exclaimed: "Doctor Lorquin, now that you have us in the depths of Blanru, and can do with us what you please, will you explain to me why we have been dragged away by force? Jean-Claude carried me off, and flung me on this heap of straw—and here I am!"
"Up, Bruno," cried the doctor.
Then he gravely answered her: "This night, Dame Catherine, a great misfortune has overtaken us. You must not attribute it to Jean-Claude: it is by another's fault that we have lost the fruit of all our sacrifices!"
"Through whose fault?"
"That unlucky Labarbe's, who did not guard the defile of the Blutfeld. He died afterward fulfilling his duty; but that does not repair the disaster; and if Piorette does not come up in time to aid Hullin, all is lost; it will be necessary to abandon the road and to fight retreating."
"What! the Blutfeld is taken?"
"Yes, Mistress Catherine. Who the deuce could ever have thought that the Germans would enter that? A defile almost impracticable for foot-passengers, enclosed by rugged rocks, where the goatherds can barely descend with their flocks. Well, they marched that way, two at a time; they turned Roche-Creuse, crushed Labarbe, and then fell upon Jérome, who defended himself like a lion till nine in the evening; but, at last, he was obliged to take refuge in the pine-woods, and leave the pass to the 'kaiserlichs.' That is the whole story. It is shocking. Indeed, there must be some one among us base and vile enough to have guided the enemy, and would deliver us over to him bound hands and feet. Oh, the wretch!" cried Lorquin, furiously. "I am not revengeful, but if he came into my clutches, how I would serve him! Up, Bruno! up, then!"
The partisans were marching along the bank like spectres, without saying a word.
The old farm-mistress became silent in order to collect her ideas.
"I begin to understand," said she at last. "We were attacked to-night on both sides."
"Exactly so, Catherine. Fortunately, ten minutes before the attack, one of Marc Divès's smugglers, Zimmer, the old dragoon, had come full gallop to warn us. Had it not been for that, we would have been lost. He fell in with our vanguard, after having run the gauntlet of a detachment of Cossacks on the plateau of Grosmann. The poor fellow had received a terrible sabre-thrust; and his bowels were protruding over the saddle—was it not so, Frantz?"
"Yes," replied the hunter, sadly.
"And what did he say?" demanded Catherine.
"He had only time to cry, 'To arms! We are hemmed in! Jérome sends me. Labarbe is dead! The Germans have passed the Blutfeld!'"
"He was a gallant fellow," exclaimed Catherine.
"Yes, a gallant fellow," replied Frantz, with his head bent down.
Then they relapsed into silence, and for some time the sledge swept through the winding valley. Now and then they were obliged to stop, the snow was so deep—when three or four mountaineers would take the horse by the bridle—and so they continued their way.
"All the same," said Catherine, suddenly rousing up from her reverie, "Hullin might have told me."
"But if he had mentioned these two attacks," interrupted the doctor, "you would have wanted to remain."
"And who can hinder me from doing what I like? If it pleased me to get out of the sledge this very moment, should I not be free? I had forgiven Jean-Claude, but I am sorry for it!"
"Oh, Maman Lefèvre, supposing he is killed while you are saying that!" murmured Louise.
"She is right, poor child," thought Catherine; and then quickly added, "I said I was sorry for it; but he is such a good man, that one cannot be angry with him. I forgive him with all my heart; in his place I should have done the same."
Two or three hundred yards farther on they entered the defile of Roches. The snow had ceased falling, and the moon was shining between great white clouds. The narrow gorge, hemmed in by steep precipices, expanded in the distance, its sides covered with tall pines. Nothing disturbed the deep calm of the woods; one could have imagined one's self far away from all human agitation. The silence was so great that every step the horse made in the snow could be heard, and even his sharp quick breathing. Frantz Materne halted at times to gaze upon the black slopes, and then hurried on to overtake the others.
They crossed valley after valley; the sledge mounted and descended, now to the right and then to the left; and the partisans, with their bayonets fixed, followed continually.
Toward three in the morning they reached the meadow of Brimbelles, where at the present day an old oak can still be seen bending over the valley. To the left, in the midst of the snow-covered, heather, behind a low stone wall, stood the old house of the guard Cuny. Three beehives were placed on a bench, a gnarled vine hung down from the roof and a small pine-bough was suspended over the door by way of sign-board, for Cuny carried on the business of innkeeper in this solitary place.
At this spot the road runs close under the meadow wall, and as a large cloud obscured the light of the moon, the doctor, fearing to be upset, halted beneath the oak.
"We have only one hour's journey more, Mother Lefèvre," said he; "take courage; there is no hurry."
"Yes," said Frantz; "the heaviest part of the road is over, and the horse may breath a while."
The small party collected round the sledge, and the doctor got down. Some lit their pipes; but no one spoke: they were all busy thinking of the Donon. What was going on there? Would Jean-Claude be able to defend the plateau till Piorette arrived? So many dread thoughts and dismal reflections passed through the minds of the worthy people, that not one seemed able to speak.
They had been standing thus about five minutes, when the black cloud passed slowly away, and the pale moonlight lit up the gorge. Suddenly, a dark figure on horseback appeared two hundred paces from them, in the path between the pine-trees. By the light of the moon they quickly perceived that it was the figure of a Cossack with his sheepskin cap, and bearing a lance under his arm. He was advancing slowly; Frantz was already taking aim, when other Cossacks with their lances appeared behind him. They advanced deliberately in the direction of the sledge, like people on the search, some with their heads turned upward, others peering into the shrubs from their saddles. They numbered more than thirty.
Imagine the feelings of Louise and Catherine, seated in the middle of the road. They looked on open-mouthed. In another minute they would be surrounded by these bandits. The mountaineers were stupefied; it was impossible to return: they were hemmed in on one side by the meadow wall, on the other by the mountain-side. The old farm-wife seized Louise by the hand, and said, in a stifled voice, "Let us escape to the woods!"
She sprang from the sledge, leaving her shoe in the straw.
Suddenly one of the Cossacks uttered a guttural cry, which was repeated along the whole line.
"We are discovered!" exclaimed the doctor, as he drew his sword.
The words had scarcely escaped his lips when twelve musket-shots lit up the path from end to end; a regular savage whoop answered the report of the muskets. The Cossacks made off from the path to the meadow in front, gave their horses the reins, bent down in their saddles, and flew toward the guard-house like deer.
"Ha! they are off like the devil!" said the doctor.
But the worthy man was too hasty. Suddenly, when they had gone two or three hundred yards along the valley, the Cossacks again wheeled round and massed themselves firmly together; then, with their lances in rest, and bending over their horses' heads, they rushed straight at the partisans, shouting in hoarse voices—"Hourah! hourah!"
It was a terrible moment.
Frantz and the others sprang toward the wall, to protect the sledge.
In another second, the clashing of lances and screams of rage could alone be heard, mingled with imprecations. Under the shadow of the old oak, through the straggling moonbeams, could be seen the horses prancing with tossing manes, as they endeavored to clear the meadow wall; while the barbarian Cossacks, with gleaming eyes and uplifted arms, struck furiously with their lances, advancing, retreating, and uttering piercing yells.
Louise, deathly pale, and Catherine, with her gray dishevelled hair, stood up in the straw.
Doctor Lorquin, in front of them, parried the strokes with his sabre, and all the time kept shouting to them—"Lie down! lie down!" But they did not hear him.
Louise, in the midst of the tumult and shouting, thought only of sheltering Catherine; and the old dame, in the midst of her terror, had recognized Yégof, on a tall, gaunt horse—Yégof, with his tin crown, bristling beard, long lance, and dog-skin floating from his shoulders. She saw him as distinctly as though it were broad daylight. He stood about ten feet distant, with sparkling eyes, brandishing his blue lance in the darkness, and striving to reach her. What could she do? Submit to her fate! Thus do the most resolute characters succumb to inevitable destiny. The old dame thought her fate was sealed. She saw all these people tearing like wolves, thrusting and parrying in the moonlight. She saw some fall; and horses running, riderless through the fields. She saw the topmost window of the guard-house thrown open; and old Cuny, in his shirt-sleeves, shoulder his gun, though not daring to fire into the crowd. All passed before her eyes with wonderful clearness. "The madman has returned," she said to herself. "Do what they will, he will hang my head to the side of his saddle. It will end as I saw in my dream."
And, indeed, everything seemed to justify her fears: the mountaineers, inferior in numbers, were giving way. The Cossacks had cleared the wall, and were already on the footpath. A well-aimed thrust passed through the old dame's back-hair, and she felt the cold iron against her neck.
"Oh, the murderers!" she screamed, falling back and clutching fast at the reins.
Doctor Lorquin himself had been hurled against the sledge. Frantz and the others, surrounded by twenty Cossacks, could afford them no help. Louise felt a hand on her shoulder: it was the hand of the madman, seated on his great horse.
At this fearful moment, the poor child, mad with terror, uttered a scream of distress; then she saw something gleaming in the darkness: it was Lorquin's pistols. Quick as lightning, tearing them from the doctor's belt, she fired them off both at once, singeing Yégof's beard, and blowing out the brains of a Cossack who was bending toward her with flaming eyes. She then seized Catherine's whip, and pale as death, lashed the horse, who bounded away. The sledge flew through the bushes, swaying from right to left. Suddenly there was a shock. Catherine, Louise, the straw, and all rolled in the snow on the slopes of the ravine. The horse stopped short on its haunches, its mouth full of bloody foam. It had struck against an oak-tree.
Rapid as was the fall, Louise had seen figures passing like the wind behind the underwood. She had heard a powerful voice, that of Divès, crying out, "Forward! Cut them down!"
It was like a vision—one of those confused apparitions which pass before the eyes in moments of supreme danger; but, on rising, the young girl had no longer any doubts. Fighting was going on only a few paces distant behind the cover of some trees, and the voice of Marc was heard shouting, "Go it, my old fellows! Give them no quarter!"
Then she saw a dozen Cossacks clambering up the hill in front, like hares among the heather; below Yégof was crossing the valley in the moonlight with the speed of a terrified bird on the wing. Several shots were sent after him, but the madman remained unscathed, and, standing upright in his stirrups, with his horse at full gallop, he turned, waving his lance with bravado, and shouting "Hourah!" Two more shots whizzed by from the guard-house; a bit of rag fell from his loins, but the madman continued his course, crying "Hourah!" in a hoarse tone, and toiled up the path which his companions had taken before him.
All this passed before Louise like a dream.
Then, turning round, she saw Catherine by her side, stupefied and absorbed like herself. They gazed at each other for a moment, and then embraced with an inexpressible feeling of happiness.
"We are saved!" murmured Catherine; and they both wept. "Thou hast behaved bravely. Jean-Claude, Gaspard, and I have good reason to be proud of thee!"
Louise was deeply agitated and trembled all over. The danger being passed, her gentle nature again resumed its sway, and she could not understand whence came her courage of a few minutes before.
They were recovering from their fright and about to get into the sledge, when they saw five or six partisans with the doctor coming toward them.
"Ah! you may cry as much as you like, Louise," said Lorquin; "but, for all that, you are a regular dragoon, a real little warrior. Though you now look so gentle, we have all seen you at work. But where are my pistols?"
At that moment the shrubs were pushed aside, and Marc Divès, sword in hand, appeared.
"Ah, Mistress Catherine, these are rough adventures for you. Zounds! what luck that I happened to come up. Those villains were spoiling you right and left."
"Yes," replied she, pushing her hair under her cap again; "it was very fortunate."
"Very fortunate! I should think so. It is only ten minutes since I arrived with my wagon at Cuny's. 'Do not go to the Donon,' said he; 'the sky has been red for an hour in that direction; there is certainly fighting going on up there.' 'You think so?' 'Faith! yes.' 'Then Joson must go out and reconnoitre a little and we others will drink a glass while waiting.' 'Good!' Hardly had Joson left, when I heard shouts as though five hundred devils were let loose. 'What is it, Cuny?' 'I don't know.' We pushed open the door, and saw the fray. Ha!" exclaimed the big smuggler, "we did not wait long. I jumped on my brave horse Fox, and dashed forward. What luck!"
"Ah!" said Catherine, "if we were only sure that our affairs go as well on the Donon, we might then rejoice."
"Yes, yes! Frantz told me about that:—it is the devil—there must always be something wrong," replied Marc. "But—but why stay here with our feet in the snow? Let us hope that Piorette will not allow his comrades to be crushed, and let us go and empty our glasses, which we left half full."
Four other smugglers then arrived, saying that that rascally Yégof would probably come back, with some more brigands like himself.
"Very likely," replied Divès. "We will return to the Falkenstein, since it is Jean-Claude's orders; but we can't bring our wagon with us: it would prevent our taking the short cuts; and in an hour all these bandits would be down upon us. Let us go first to Cuny's. Catherine and Louise will not be sorry to drink a little wine; and the others too. It will put their hearts in the right place again. Up, Bruno!"
He led his horse by the bridle. Two wounded men had been laid in the sledge; two others having been killed, as well as seven or eight Cossacks stretched with their boots wide apart in the snow, were abandoned, and they went on toward the forester's house.
Frantz was consoling himself for not having been on the Donon: he had finished two Cossacks, and the sight of the inn made him feel in a good humor. Before the door stood the small wagon full of cartridges. Cuny came out, saying: "A hearty welcome, Mistress Lefèvre. What a night for women! Be seated! What is going on up there?"
While they were hastily drinking some wine, everything had to be explained over again. The worthy old man in a blouse and green breeches, with his wrinkled face, bald head, and wide-open eyes, listened with clasped hands, exclaiming: "Good God! Good God! in what times are we living? One can no longer follow the high-roads without risk of being attacked. It is worse than the old Swedish tales." And he shook his head.
"Come," said Divès, "time flies. We must continue our way."
Everybody being ready, the smugglers led the wagon, which contained some thousands of cartridges and two small kegs of brandy, about three hundred yards off, to the middle of the valley, and then unharnessed the horses.
"Go forward!" shouted Marc; "we will rejoin you in a few minutes."
"But what art thou going to do with the cart?" said Frantz. "Since we have no time to take it to the Falkenstein, it had better be left under Cuny's shed than in the road."
"Yes, to get the poor old man hanged, when the Cossacks arrive, for they will be here in less than an hour. Do not trouble thyself; I have my own idea."
Frantz rejoined the sledge, which went on its way. In a short time they passed by the saw-works of the Marquis and turned sharp to the right, to reach the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, whose tall chimneys could be perceived three-quarters of a league distant on the plateau. They were on the hill-side when Marc Divès and his men overtook them, shouting:
"Halt! Stop a bit! Look down there!"
And, looking down into the gorge, they saw the Cossacks capering round the wagon—about three hundred of them.
"They are coming! Let us fly!" cried Louise.
"Wait a bit," said the smuggler. "We have nothing to fear."
He was still speaking, when an immense sheet of flame sped out from one mountain to the other, illuminating the woods, rocks, and the little house of the forester fifteen hundred yards below; then there was a report so terrible that the earth seemed to tremble.
While those near him gazed in bewilderment and dumb terror at each other, Marc's bursts of laughter reached their ears, in spite of the din.
"Ha, ha, ha!" shouted he, "I was sure the rogues would stop round the wagon, to drink up my brandy. I knew the match would have just time to reach the powder!"
"Do you think they will pursue us?"
"Their arms and legs are now hanging from the branches of the pine-trees! Come along! And may heaven grant the same fate to all those who have now crossed the Rhine!"
The whole escort, the partisans, the doctor, all had grown silent: so many terrible emotions had filled them with endless thoughts such as do not fall within the experience of every-day life. They said to themselves: "What are men that they destroy, harass, and ruin each other in this manner? Why do they hate each other so? And what spirit of evil is it that thus excites them?"
But Divès and his men were not at all troubled by these events: they galloped along, laughing and boasting.
"For my part," said the big smuggler, "I never saw such a farce before. Ha, ha, ha! if I lived a thousand years, I should laugh at it still." Then he became more serious, and exclaimed: "All the same, Yégof is the cause of this. One must be blind not to see that it was he who led the Germans to the Blutfeld. I shall be sorry if he has been struck down by a piece of my wagon; I have something better in store for him than that. All that I wish is that he may keep in good health till we meet somewhere in a lonely corner of the wood. It is no matter whether it be in one year, ten years, twenty years, provided only that we meet. The longer it is deferred, the more savage my determination becomes: the daintiest morsels are eaten cold, like a boar's head in white wine."
He said this with an air of good-humor, but those who knew him perceived beneath it a serious danger for Yégof.
Half an hour later, they all reached the plateau on which the farm of Bois-de-Chênes was situated.