Jérome of St. Quirin had managed to make good his retreat to the farm, and since midnight he had occupied the plateau.
"Who goes there?" cried his sentinels as the escort approached.
"It is we, from the village of Charmes," shouted Marc, in his stentorian voice.
The sentinels approached to examine them, and then they passed on their way.
The farm was silent; a sentry, his musket over his arm, was pacing before the granary, where about thirty partisans were asleep upon the straw. At the sight of these great dark roofs, the stables and outhouses belonging to the old building where she had spent her youth, where her father and grandfather had led their tranquil laborious lives in peace, and which she was now about to abandon, perhaps forever, Catherine felt a terrible wrenching at her heart; but no word escaped her. Springing from the sledge, as in other days when she returned from marketing, she said: "Come, Louise, here we are at home, thank God."
Old Duchêne pushed open the door, exclaiming: "Is that you, Madame Lefèvre?"
"Yes, it is I. Any news from Jean-Claude?"
"No, Madame."
They entered the large kitchen. Some cinders were still smouldering on the hearth, and in the dark, under the broad chimney, was sitting Jérome of St. Quirin, with his big horsehair hood, his great stick between his knees, and his carbine leaning against the wall.
"Good-day, Jérome," said the old farm-wife.
"Good-day, Catherine," replied the grave chief of the Grosmann. "Have you come from the Donon?"
"Yes: things are going badly, my poor Jérome. The 'kaiserlichs' were attacking the farm when we left the plateau. Nothing but white uniforms was to be seen on every side. They were already beginning to cross the breastworks."
"Then you think Hullin will be compelled to abandon the road?"
"Possibly, if Piorette does not come to his assistance."
The partisans had approached near the fire. Marc Divès bent over the cinders to light his pipe; on rising, he exclaimed: "I ask thee one thing only, Jérome; I know beforehand that they fought well under thy command——"
"We have done our duty," replied the shoemaker. "There are sixty men stretched on the slopes of the Grosmann who will tell you so at the last day."
"Yes; but who, then, guided the Germans? They could not have discovered the pass of the Blutfeld by themselves."
"Yégof the madman—Yégof," said Jérome, whose gray eyes, encircled by deep wrinkles and thick white eyebrows, seemed to sparkle in the darkness.
"Ah! art thou certain of it?"
"Labarbe's men saw him climbing up; he led the others."
The partisans looked at each other with indignation.
At this moment Doctor Lorquin, who had remained outside to unharness the horse, opened the door, shouting: "The battle 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 recipients of these tidings. Each thought of the relations and friends that he might never see again; and from the kitchen and the granary everybody at once rushed on to the "plateau." At the same time Robin and Dubourg, posted as sentinels above Bois-de-Chênes, cried out, "Who goes there?"
"France!" replied a voice.
Notwithstanding the distance, Louise, fancying she could recognize her father's voice, was seized with such a fit of trembling that Catherine was compelled to support her.
Just then the noise of many footsteps resounded over the hardened snow, and Louise, unable to contain herself any longer, exclaimed, "Papa Jean-Claude!"
"I am coming," replied Hullin, "I am coming."
"My father?" exclaimed Frantz Materne, rushing to meet Jean-Claude.
"He is with us, Frantz."
"And Kasper?"
"He has received a slight scratch, but it is nothing. Thou wilt see them both again."
Catherine threw herself into Jean-Claude's arms.
"Oh, Jean-Claude, what joy to behold you once more!"
"Yes," replied the worthy man, in a suppressed voice, "there are many who will never see their friends again."
"Frantz," said old Materne, "here, this way!"
And one could only see, on all sides, people seeking each other in the dim light, squeezing hands, and embracing. Some called for, "Niclau! Sapheri!" but many did not answer to their names.
Then the voices became hoarse, as though stifled, and relapsed into silence. The joy of some, and the consternation of others, produced a terrible sensation. Louise was in Hullin's arms, sobbing bitterly.
"Ah, Jean-Claude," said Mother Lefèvre, "you will hear strange things about that child. I will say no more now, but we have been attacked——"
"Yes, we will talk of that later; our time is short," said Hullin. "The road to the Donon is lost, the Cossacks may be here at daylight, and we have many things to arrange."
He turned the corner and entered the farm, all following him. Duchêne had just thrown a fagot on the fire. All these people, with faces blackened by powder, still animated by the combat, their clothes torn by bayonet-thrusts, some blood-stained, advancing from the darkness into the light, presented a strange spectacle. Kasper, whose forehead was bandaged with his handkerchief, had received a sabre-cut; his bayonet, buff facings, and high blue gaiters, were stained with blood. Old Materne, thanks to his imperturbable presence of mind, returned safe and sound from the fray. The remains of Jérome's and Hullin's troops were thus once more united. They wore the same wild physiognomies, animated by the same energy and desire for vengeance. But Hullin's men, harassed by fatigue, sat down right and left, on the fagots, on the stone sink, on the low pavement of the hearth—their heads in their hands and elbows on their knees; while Jérome's, who could not be convinced of the disappearance of Hans, Joson, and Daniel, looked about everywhere, exchanging questions, broken by long pauses. Materne's two sons held each other by the arm, as though afraid of losing one another, and their father, behind them, leaning against the wall, with his elbow on his gun, watched them with an expression of satisfaction.
"There they are, I see them," he seemed to say: "two famous fellows! They have saved their skins, both of them." If any one came to ask him about Pierre, Jacques, or Nicolas, his son or his brother, he would reply hap-hazard—"Yes, yes, there are several lying down there on their backs. What can you expect? It is war! Your Nicolas has done his duty. You must console yourself." Meanwhile he thought—"Mine are out of the scrimmage; that is the chief thing."
Catherine and Louise were busy preparing supper. Duchêne came up from the cellar with a barrel of wine on his shoulder. He set it down, and knocked out the bung; and each partisan presented his flask or cup to be filled with the purple liquid which glittered in the firelight.
"Eat and drink," said the old dame to them: "all is not lost yet; you will have need of your strength again. Here, Frantz, unhook those hams for me. Here is bread and knives. Sit down, my children."
Frantz reached down the hams in the chimney with his bayonet.
The benches were brought forward; they sat down, and notwithstanding their sorrows, they ate with that vigorous appetite which neither present griefs nor thoughts for the future can make a mountaineer forget. But it did not prevent a bitter sadness from filling the hearts of these brave men; and first one and then another would stop suddenly, letting fall his fork, and leave the table, saying—"I have had enough!"
While the partisans were thus engaged in recruiting their strength, the chiefs were assembled in the next room to make some last resolutions for the defence. They sat round the table, on which was placed a tin lamp: Doctor Lorquin, with his dog Pluto, looking inquiringly into his master's face; Jérome, in the corner of the window to the right; Hullin to the left, very pale; Marc Divès, his elbow on the table and cheek in his hand, and his back turned to the door, showed only his brown profile and the tip of his long mustache. Materne alone remained standing, leaning, as was his custom, against the wall behind Lorquin's chair, with his carbine at his feet. The noise of the men in the kitchen could be distinctly heard.
When Catherine, summoned by Jean-Claude, entered the room, she heard a sort of groan which made her shudder. It was Hullin who was speaking.
"All these brave lads—all these fathers of families, who fell one after the other," he cried, in a heartrending voice, "do you think I did not feel it? Do you think that I would not rather a thousand times have been killed myself? You do not know what I have suffered this night! To lose one's life is nothing; but to bear alone the weight of such a responsibility——"
He paused: his trembling lips, the tear which trickled slowly down his cheek, his attitude, all showed the scruples of the worthy man, in face of one of those situations where conscience itself hesitates and seeks further support. Catherine went and sat down quietly in the big arm-chair. A few seconds later Hullin continued in a calmer tone:—"Between eleven o'clock and midnight, Zimmer came up, shouting, 'We are turned! The Germans are coming down the Grosmann! Labarbe is crushed! Jérome can hold out no longer!' What was to be done! Could I beat a retreat? Could I abandon a position which had cost us so much blood—the road to the Donon, the road to Paris? If I had done so, should I not have been a coward? But I had only three hundred men against four thousand at Grandfontaine, and I know not how many descending from the mountain! Well, I decided at any cost to hold it; it was our duty. I said to myself, 'Life is nothing without honor! We will all die; but they shall not say that we have yielded the high-road to France. No, no; they shall not say that.'"
At this moment Hullin's voice faltered, and his eyes filled with tears, as he continued—"We held out; my brave children held out till two o'clock. I saw them fall: they fell shouting, 'Vive la France!' I had warned Piorette in the beginning of the action. He came up quickly, with fifty stout men. It was too late. The enemy poured in on every side; they held three parts of the plain, and forced us back among the pine-forests on the Blanru side; their fire burst upon us. All I could do was to assemble my wounded, those who could still drag along, and put them under Piorette's escort; a hundred of my men joined him. For myself, I only kept fifty to occupy the Falkenstein. We had to pass right through the Germans, who wanted to cut off our retreat. Happily, the night was dark; had it not been for that, not one of us would have escaped. That is how we are situated. All is lost! The Falkenstein alone remains ours, and we are reduced to three hundred men. Now the question is, shall we go on to the end? I have already told you that I dread to bear alone such a responsibility. So long as it concerned defending the road to the Donon, there was no doubt about it: every man belongs to his country. But this road is lost. We should need ten thousand men to retake it; and at this very moment the enemy is entering Lorraine. Come, what is to be done?"
"We must go on to the end," said Jérome.
"Yes, yes!" cried the others.
"Is that your opinion, Catherine?"
"Certainly," exclaimed the old dame, whose features expressed an inflexible tenacity.
Then Hullin, in a firmer tone, explained his plan:—"The Falkenstein is our point of retreat. It is our arsenal; it is there that we have our ammunition; the enemy knows it; he will attempt an attack on that side, therefore all of us here present must make an effort to defend it, so that the whole country may see us and say, 'Catherine Lefèvre, Jérome, Materne and his boys, Hullin, and Doctor Lorquin are there. They will not lay down their arms.' This idea will give fresh courage to all manly hearts. Besides, Piorette will remain in the woods; his troops will grow more numerous day by day: the country will be filled with Cossacks and marauders of every description; when the enemy's army shall have entered Lorraine I will signal to Piorette; he will throw himself between the Donon and the highway, so that all the laggers behind scattered over the mountains will be caught as in a trap. We shall also be able to profit by favorable chances to carry off the convoys of the Germans, to harass their reserves, and, if fortune aids us, as we must hope it will, and all these 'kaiserlichs' are beaten in Lorraine by our army, then we can cut off their retreat."
Everybody got up, and Hullin going into the kitchen, pronounced this simple address to the mountaineers:—"My friends, we have decided that we must push our resistance to the end. Nevertheless, every one is free to do as he likes; to lay down his arms and return to his village; but let those who wish to revenge themselves join us; they will share our last morsel of bread and our last cartridge."
Colon, the old wood-floater, arose and said, "Hullin, we are all with thee; we began to fight together, and so will we finish."
"Yes, yes!" they all shouted.
"Have you all decided? Well, listen. Jérome's brother will take the command."
"My brother is dead," interrupted Jérome; "he lies on the slopes of the Grosmann."
There was a moment's pause; then in a loud voice Hullin continued: "Colon, thou wilt take the command of all those that remain, with the exception of the men who formed Catherine Lefèvre's escort, and whom I shall keep with me. Thou wilt go and rejoin Piorette in the valley of Blanru, passing by the 'Two Rivers.'"
"And the ammunition?" said Marc Divès.
"I have brought up my wagon-load," said Jérome; "Colon can use it."
"Let the dray be loaded," said Catherine; "the Cossacks are coming, and will pillage everything. Our men must not leave empty-handed; let them take away the cows, oxen, and calves—everything: it will be so much gained on the enemy."
Five minutes later the farm was being ransacked; the dray was loaded with hams, smoked meats, and bread; the cattle were led out of the stables, the horses harnessed to the great wagon, and soon the convoy began its march, Robin at the head, blowing on his horn, with the partisans behind pushing at the wheels. When it had disappeared in the road, and silence had succeeded to all the noise, Catherine turning round, beheld Hullin behind her.
"Well, Catherine," said he, "all is finished! We are now going to make our way up there."
Frantz, Kasper, and those of the escort, with Marc Divès and Materne, all armed, were waiting in the kitchen.
"Duchêne," said the good woman, "go down to the village; you must not be ill-treated by the enemy on my account."
The old servant shook his white head, and, with his eyes full of tears, replied:—"I may as well die here, Madame Lefèvre. It is nearly fifty years since I came to the farm. Do not make me leave; it would be the death of me."
"Do as you like, my poor Duchêne," replied Catherine, softly; "here are the keys of the house."
And the poor old man sat down in the chimney-corner, on a settee, with fixed eyes and half-open mouth, as though lost in some painful reverie.
Then began the journey to the Falkenstein. Marc Divès, on horseback, sword in hand, formed the rear-guard. Frantz and Hullin watched the plateau to the left; Kasper and Jérome the valley to the right: Materne and the men of the escort surrounded the women. It was a singular sight. Before the cottages of the village of Charmes, on the door-steps, at the windows and loopholes, appeared the faces of young and old, looking at the flight of Mother Lefèvre; nor did their evil tongues spare her:—"Ah! they are turned out at last," cried some; "another time, do not meddle with what does not concern you."
Others reflected with a loud voice, that Catherine had been rich long enough, and that every one should have his turn at poverty. As for the industry, wisdom, kind-heartedness, and all the virtues of the old farm-wife, or Jean-Claude's patriotism, or the courage of Jérome and the three Maternes, the disinterested motives of Doctor Lorquin or Marc Divès's self-sacrifice, nobody ever mentioned them; for were they not vanquished?
At the end of the valley of Bouleaux, two gun-shots from the village of Charmes, to the left, the little troop began slowly to ascend the path to the old "burg." Hullin, remembering how he had taken the same road when he went to buy powder of Marc Divès, could not help feeling very sad. Then, notwithstanding his journey to Phalsbourg, the spectacle of the wounded from Leipzig and Hanau, and the account given by the old sergeant, he did not despair or doubt of the success of the defence. Now all was lost; the enemy were descending into Lorraine, and the mountaineers were retreating. Marc Divès rode by the side of the wall in the snow; his horse, apparently accustomed to this journey, neighed loudly. The smuggler turned from time to time to look back on the plateau of Bois-de-Chênes. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Look! here come the Cossacks!"
They all halted to look. They were already high up on the mountain, above the village and farm of Bois-de-Chênes. The morning mists were giving way to the gray light of the winter's day, and, on the hill-side could be distinguished the forms of several Cossacks, with their heads raised, and pistols pointed, stealthily approaching the old farm-house. They were scattered after the manner of sharpshooters, as if they feared a surprise. A few minutes later more appeared, ascending the valley of Houx, then still more, all in the same attitude, upright in their stirrups, in order to see as far as possible. The first, having passed by the farm and observing nothing threatening, waved their lances and returned half way back. Whereupon the others galloped up at full speed like a flock of crows when they have sighted their prey. In a few minutes the farm was surrounded and the door opened. In another moment the windows were smashed, and the furniture, mattresses, and linen, thrown outside. Catherine calmly looked on at the pillage. She said nothing for some time; but, on seeing Yégof, whom she had not perceived before, strike Duchêne with the butt-end of his lance, and push him out of the farm, she could not restrain a cry of indignation.
"The wretch! Could any one be cowardly enough to strike a poor old man unable to defend himself. Ah! brigand, if I only held thee!"
"Come along, Catherine," said Jean-Claude; "that's enough; what is the use of gazing at such a spectacle any longer?"
"You are right," said the old mistress; "let us go on, or I shall be tempted to go back and revenge myself."
On approaching the red rocks, incrusted with large white and black pebbles, overhanging the precipice like the arches of an immense cathedral, Louise and Catherine stopped in ecstasy. The magnificent view of the streams of Lorraine, and the blue ribbon of the Rhine to their right, with the distant woods and valleys, filled them with joy, and the old dame said piously, "Jean-Claude, He who created these rocks, and formed these valleys, forests, heaths, and mosses, He will render to us the justice we merit."
As they were gazing thus on the rugged precipices, Marc led his horse into a cavern close by, and, returning, began to climb up before them, saying, "Take care, or you may slip!"
At the same time he pointed to the blue precipice on their right, with pine-trees at the bottom. Everybody then relapsed into silence till the terrace was reached, where the arch commenced. There they breathed more freely. In the middle of the passage were the smugglers Brenn, Pfeifer, and Joubac, with their long gray mantles and black hats, sitting round a fire. Marc Divès said to them, "Here we are! The 'kaiserlichs' are masters. Zimmer was killed last night. Is Hexe-Baizel up there?"
"Yes," replied Brenn; "she is making cartridges."
"They may be of use," said Marc. "Keep your eyes open, and if any come up fire on them."
The Maternes halted at the corner of the rock; and these three sturdy men, with their powerful muscular limbs, their hats pushed back, and carbines on their shoulders, offered a curious spectacle in the blue mists of the abyss. Old Materne was pointing with outstretched hand to a small white speck in the distance, almost hidden in the midst of the pines. "Do you recognize that, my boys?" said he; and they all three peered through their half-closed eyes.
"It is our house," replied Kasper.
"Poor Margredel!" rejoined the old hunter, after a short pause; "how uneasy she must have been these last eight days? What prayers does she not offer up for us to Saint-Odile?"
At that moment Marc Divès, who was walking on in front, uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Mother Lefèvre," said he, stopping short, "the Cossacks are burning your farm."
Catherine received the tidings very calmly, and advanced to the edge of the terrace, Louise and Jean-Claude following. At the bottom of the abyss was a great white cloud, through which could be seen a bright spark, as it were, on the side of Bois-de-Chênes—that was all; but at intervals, when the wind blew strong, the flames shot up, the two high black gables, the hay-loft, the small stables burned brightly, then all disappeared once more.
"It is nearly finished," said Hullin, in a low voice.
"Yes," replied Catherine; "there are the labor and trouble of forty years vanishing in smoke; but they cannot burn my good land, nor the great meadow of Eichmath. We will begin our work over again. Gaspard and Louise will repair it all. I regret nothing I have done."
A quarter of an hour later thousands of sparks arose, and the building crumbled to the ground. The black gables alone remained standing. They continued to ascend the path. As they were ascending the higher terrace, they heard the sharp voice of Hexe-Baizel.
"Is it thou, Catherine?" she cried. "Ah, I never thought thou wouldst have come to see me in my wretched hole."
Baizel and Catherine Lefèvre had been at school together in former days, therefore they used the third person when speaking.
"Nor I neither," replied the old farm-mistress. "All the same, Baizel—one is glad to find in misfortune an old companion of one's childhood."
Baizel seemed touched by her words.
"All that is here, Catherine, is thine," she exclaimed; "everything!"
She pointed to her miserable stool, the furze broom, and the five or six fagots on the hearth. Catherine looked on a few moments in silence, and then said: "It is not grand, but it is solid; at least, they will not be able to burn down thy house."
"No, they will not burn it," said Hexe-Baizel, laughing; "they would need all the wood of the province of Dabo even to warm it a little. Ha! ha! ha!"
After so many fatigues, the partisans stood in need of repose. They all placed their guns against the wall, and lay down on the ground to sleep, Marc Divès having opened the second cavern to them, where they at least were sheltered. Marc then went out with Hullin to examine their position.
On the rock of the Falkenstein, high up in the clouds, stands a tower, somewhat sunken at its base. This tower, overgrown with brambles, hawthorn, and bilberries, is as old as the mountain; neither the French, Germans, nor Swedes have destroyed it. The stone and cement are so solidly combined that not even a fragment can be detached from it. It looks gloomy and mysterious, carrying one back to ancient times, beyond the memory of man.
At that time of the year when the wild-geese migrated in flocks, Marc Divès, when he had nothing better to do, used to await them hidden in the tower, and sometimes at nightfall, when the flocks came through the fogs flying in large circles before resting, he would bring down two or three, much to the satisfaction of Hexe-Baizel, who was always very willing to put them on a spit. Often, too, in the autumn, Marc laid traps in the bushes, where he caught thrushes. The old tower also served him as a wood-house.
Divès, perceiving that his wood, covered with snow and soaked by rain, gave more smoke than light, had covered in the old tower with a roof of planks. With reference to this occasion, the smuggler related a curious story. He pretended that, on laying the rafters, he had discovered, at the bottom of a fissure, a snow-white owl, blind and feeble: but supplied with quantities of bats and field-mice. He therefore called it the "grandmother of the country," as he supposed that all the birds came to feed it on account of its extreme old age.
Toward the close of the day, the partisans posted round the rock saw the white uniforms appearing in the neighboring gorges. They poured in on all sides in large numbers, thereby clearly showing their determination to blockade the Falkenstein. Perceiving this, Marc Divès became more thoughtful. "If they surround us," said he, "we shall not be able to procure food, and shall have to surrender or die of hunger."
The enemy's staff on horseback could be clearly distinguished, halting round the fountain of the village of Charmes. There also stood a tall chief with a large paunch, who was contemplating the rock through a telescope. Behind him was Yégof, whom from time to time he turned round to question. The women and children formed a circle beyond them, apparently highly delighted, and five or six Cossacks pranced about. The smuggler could not contain himself any longer, and, taking Hullin aside, "Look," said he, "at that long line of shakos gliding along the Sarre, and at the others who are scaling the valley on this side like hares; they are 'kaiserlichs,' aren't they? Well, what are they going to do, Jean-Claude?"
"They are going to surround the mountain, that is clear. How many are there, dost thou think?"
"From three to four thousand men, without counting those who are walking over the country. Well, what can Piorette do against this pack of vagabonds with three hundred men? I ask thee frankly, Hullin."
"He can do nothing," replied the worthy man, simply. "The Germans know that our ammunition is on the Falkenstein; they dread an insurrection after they enter Lorraine, and wish to insure their rear. The enemy's general knows that we cannot be taken by mere force, he is deciding to reduce us by hunger. All that is true, Marc; but we are men: we will do our duty—we will die here!"
There was a short silence; Marc Divès frowned, and did not seem at all convinced.
"We will die!" he replied, scratching his head. "I do not see why we should die at all; it is not our intention to die: too many people would be gratified by it."
"What wouldst thou do?" said Hullin, dryly. "Wouldst thou surrender?"
"Surrender!" exclaimed the smuggler. "Dost thou take me for a coward?"
"Then explain thyself."
"This evening I start for Phalsbourg. I risk my skin in crossing the enemy's lines; but I like that better than folding my arms here, and perishing with hunger. I will enter the town on the first 'sortie,' or I will endeavor to climb one of the gates. The commandant, Meunier, knows me. I have sold him tobacco for three years. Like thyself, he has gone through the campaigns of Italy and Egypt. Well, I will explain everything to him. I shall see Gaspard Lefèvre. I will so arrange that they will give us, perhaps, a company. Dost thou see, Jean-Claude, that the uniform alone would save us? All the brave men who remain will join Piorette; and in any case we shall be delivered, That is my idea. What dost thou think of it?"
He looked at Hullin, whose gloomy, fixed expression made him uneasy.
"Dost thou not think that a chance?"
"It is an idea," said Jean-Claude at last. "I do not oppose it." And, looking full in the smuggler's face, "Swear to me to do thy best to enter the town."
"I will swear nothing," replied Marc, whose brown cheeks were covered with a flush. "I leave all my possessions here, my wife, my comrades, Catherine Lefèvre, and thee, my oldest friend! If I do not return, I shall be a traitor; but if I return, Jean-Claude, thou shalt explain what thou meanest by thy demand: we will settle this little affair between us."
"Marc," said Hullin, "forgive me! I have suffered much these last days. I was wrong. Misfortune makes one distrustful. Give me thy hand. Go! Save us, save Catherine, save my child! I say so now: our only resource is in thee."
Hullin's voice faltered. Divès relented; but he rejoined: "All the same, Hullin, thou shouldst not have said that to me at such a time. Never let us speak of it again. I will leave my skin on the way, or return to deliver you. This evening, when darkness sets in, I will leave. The 'kaiserlichs' surround the mountain already; but no matter, I have a good horse, and, besides, I have always been lucky."
By six o'clock the highest peaks were hid in darkness. Hundreds of fires, sparkling in the depths of the gorges, announced that the Germans were preparing their repasts.
Marc Divès felt his way down the narrow path. Hullin listened for a few seconds to the retreating steps of his comrade, then walked anxiously toward the old tower, where their head-quarters were established. He lifted the thick woollen covering which closed the owl's-nest, and perceived Catherine, Louise, and the others crouching round a small fire. The old farm-mistress sat on an oak log, her hands clasped round her knees, watching the flames fixedly, with compressed lips. Louise leant dreamily against the wall. Jérome stood behind Catherine, his hands crossed on his stick, his otter-skin cap touching the mouldy roof. All were sad and discouraged. Hexe-Baizel, who was lifting the lid of a kettle, and Doctor Lorquin, who was scratching the softer parts of the old wall with the point of his sabre, alone preserved their usual expression.
"Here we are," said the doctor, "returned to the days of the Triboques. These walls are more than two thousand years old. A great deal of water must have flowed from the heights of the Falkenstein and Grosmann to the Sarre and Rhine since a fire was last kindled in this tower."
"Yes," replied Catherine, as though awaking from a dream; "and many besides ourselves have suffered cold, hunger, and misery here. Who knew of it? No one. And one, or two, or three hundred years hence, others, perhaps, will again come for shelter to this place. They will find, as we have, the wall cold, and the earth damp; they will make a fire; they will look as we look; and they will say, like us, 'Who suffered here before ourselves? Why did they suffer? They must have been pursued and hunted, like ourselves, to be obliged to come and hide in this wretched hole.' And they will think of past times; and no one will reply."
Jean-Claude came up to them. The old dame, raising her head, and looking at him, said, "Well! we are blockaded; the enemy wants to subdue us by famine."
"True, Catherine," replied Hullin; "but I did not expect that. I felt certain of a sudden attack; but the 'kaiserlichs' have not gained all yet. Divès has just left for Phalsbourg. He knows the commandant of the place; and if they will only send a few hundred men to our help——"
"Do not count on that," interrupted the old woman. "Marc may be taken or killed by the Germans: and, if not, and suppose he manages to cross their lines, how will he be able to enter Phalsbourg? You well know that the town is besieged by the Russians."
Then everybody relapsed into silence. Hexe-Baizel brought up the soup, and they sat in a circle round the smoking bowl.
Catherine Lefèvre came out of the ancient ruin about seven in the morning; Louise and Hexe-Baizel were still asleep; but broad daylight, the clear light of the high regions, was already penetrating the abysses. In the depths, through the azure, the woods, valleys, and rocks could be clearly traced, like the mosses and pebbles of a lake beneath the blue crystal water. Not a breath disturbed the air; and Catherine, gazing over this grand spectacle, felt a calmness and tranquillity beyond even that which comes of sleep. "What are our miseries of a day," thought she, "our uneasinesses and our sufferings? Why pester heaven with our moans? why fear the future? All this lasts but a second; our sighs are of no more avail than the chirp of the grasshopper in autumn; and do its cries prevent winter from coming? Must not time pursue its course, and everything die to be renewed?"
Thus thought the old dame, and she had no longer any fears for the future. She had been thus musing for a few instants, when suddenly a hum of voices struck her ears: she turned, and saw Hullin with the three smugglers, talking seriously together on the other side of the plateau. They were engaged in a grave discussion, and had not noticed her. Catherine approached closer to them, and heard the following conversation:—
"Then you do not think it possible for any one to get down either side?"
"No, Jean-Claude, it is quite impossible," replied Brenn; "those brigands know the country thoroughly well: all the paths are guarded. Hold, look along the paths of that stream: we never dreamt of observing it even; well! they are defending that now. And over there, on the passage of the Rothstein, a path only for a goat, which is not trodden once in ten years—thou canst see a bayonet sparkle behind the rock, canst thou not? And that nearer path along which I have slipped with my bags for these eight years past without meeting a single gendarme, they occupy that also: the devil certainly must have showed them all the defiles."
"Yes," exclaimed Joubac, "if the devil has nothing to do with it, at least Yégof has!"
"But," continued Hullin, "it seems to me that three or four men might, if they liked, push through one of those posts."
"No, those posts lean one on the other; at the first shot one would have a whole regiment upon one's shoulders," replied Brenn. "Besides, supposing one had the luck to get through, how could one return with provisions? My opinion is, that it is impossible."
There was a pause.
"After that," said Joubac, "if Hullin likes we will try all the same."
"We will try what?" said Brenn. "To break our legs in escaping ourselves, and leave the others in the trap. I don't mind; if any others go, I will too. But as for pretending to return with provisions, it is impossible. Come, Joubac, by which way art thou going, and by which way wilt thou return? If thou knowest of a passage, tell me. For twenty years I have scoured the mountain with Marc. I know all the paths and roads ten leagues round, and I see no other way but through the sky!"
Hullin turned round at that moment and saw Mother Lefèvre, close behind, listening attentively.
"What! were you there, Catherine?" said he. "Our affairs are taking a bad turn."
"Yes, I heard; there is no means of renewing our provisions."
"Our provisions!" said Brenn with a queer laugh. "Are you aware, Mother Lefèvre, for how long we have them?"
"Why, for a fortnight," replied the old dame.
"For a week," said the smuggler, shaking out the ashes from his pipe.
"It is true," said Hullin, "Marc Divès and myself thought they would attack the Falkenstein; we never imagined the enemy would blockade it like a fortress. We have been deceived!"
"And what is to be done?" said Catherine, turning pale.
"We are going to put everybody on half rations. If, in a fortnight, Marc does not return we shall have nothing left—then we shall see."
So saying, Hullin, Catherine, and the smugglers, with bowed heads, took the path to the breach again. As they were coming down the slope, thirty feet below them they perceived Materne. He was climbing breathlessly among the ruins, and clutched hold of the bushes to help him along faster.
"Well," shouted Jean-Claude to him; "what is the matter, old fellow?"
"Ah! there thou art. I was coming to find thee; one of the enemy's officers has come forward on the wall of the old 'burg' with a little white flag; he looks as though he had something to say to us."
Hullin advanced immediately to the edge of the rock, and saw a German officer standing on the wall, and awaiting a signal to mount. He was about two gun-shots distant; farther behind five or six soldiers were stationed with their arms shouldered. After having inspected this group, Jean-Claude turned and said: "It is a flag of truce. He comes no doubt to summon us to surrender."
"Fire upon them!" cried Catherine; "it is all we have to say."
All the others appeared of the same advice, excepting Hullin, who, without making any reply descended to the terrace, where the rest of the partisans were assembled.
"My children," said he, "the enemy sends us a flag of truce. We do not know what he wants of us. I suppose it is to order us to lay down our arms; but it may possibly be something else. Frantz and Kasper will go to meet him; they must blindfold the officer and lead him here."
No objection being made, Materne's sons shouldered their carbines and walked away under the lofty arch. About ten minutes later, the two red-haired hunters reached the officer; there was a rapid conference between them, after which all three began to climb to the Falkenstein. By degrees, as the party ascended, the uniform of the officer and his face could be distinguished: he was a thin man, with light brown hair, well made, and determined-looking. At the foot of the rock Frantz and Kasper blindfolded him, and soon the sound of their steps under the arch could be heard.
Jean-Claude going toward them, himself unbound the handkerchief, saying, "You desire to communicate something to me, sir; I am listening."
The partisans stood about fifteen paces away. Catherine Lefèvre, the foremost among them, frowned; her bony, angular face, long beaked nose, her three or four tresses of gray hair, falling down over her temples and hollow cheek-bones, her compressed lips, and the fixity of her gaze, appeared at first to rivet the attention of the German officer. Next to her stood Louise, with her sweet pale face. Jérome, with his long tawny beard, draped in his horse-hair tunic, and Materne, leaning on his short carbine, and the others around him completed the group.
The officer himself was the object of particular attention. One could see in him, his attitude, fine sunburnt features, clear gray eyes, handsome mustache, in the elegance of his limbs, hardened by the labors of war, a member of an aristocratic race: he combined the old soldier and the man of the world, the warrior and the diplomatist.
This reciprocal inspection being finished, the bearer of the flag of truce said, in good French, "I have the honor of addressing the Commandant Hullin?"
"Yes, sir," replied Jean-Claude.
And seeing the other gazing hesitatingly around the circle, he continued, "Speak loud, sir, so that everybody may hear you. When honor and the country are in question all are concerned in France; the women are interested as well as ourselves. Have you any proposition to make me, and from whom?"
"From the General Commander-in-chief. Here is my commission."
"Good; we are listening to you, sir."
Then the officer, raising his voice, said in a resolute tone: "Permit me first, commandant, to remark that you have fulfilled your duty splendidly: you have called forth the esteem of your enemies."
"In the matter of duty," replied Hullin, "we have all done our best."
"Yes," added Catherine, dryly, "and since our enemies esteem us on that account, well, they will esteem us still more in eight or fifteen days, for we have not reached the end of the war yet. You will live to see more of us."
The officer turned his head, and looked with astonishment at the savage energy in the old woman's face.
"They are noble sentiments," he retorted, after an instant's silence: "but humanity has its rights, and to squander blood uselessly is returning evil for evil."
"Then why do you come into our country?" cried Catherine sharply. "Go away, and we will let you alone. You make war like brigands: you steal, pillage, and burn. You all deserve to be hanged. And to set a good example, you personally ought to be hurled over that rock."
The officer turned pale, for the old woman seemed quite capable of carrying out her threat; however he soon regained his composure, and replied calmly: "I am aware that the Cossacks have set fire to the farm in front of this rock. They are pillagers, such as are to be found in the rear of every army, and this isolated act proves nothing against the discipline of our troops. The French soldiers did the same in Germany, and particularly in the Tyrol; not content with pillaging and burning the villages, they mercilessly shot all mountaineers suspected of having taken up arms for the defence of their country. We might make reprisals, and should be justified in doing so; but we are not barbarians, we can understand that patriotism is noble and grand, even in its most ill-advised acts. Besides, we are not making war on the French people, but on the Emperor Napoleon. And the general, on learning the conduct of the Cossacks, has publicly punished this act of Vandalism; more, he has decided that an indemnity shall be accorded to the proprietor of the farm."
"I will not receive anything from you," Catherine hastily interrupted; "I will keep my injustice and revenge myself."
The officer understanding by the accent of the old woman's voice that he could make no impression upon her, and feeling that it was even dangerous for him to reply, turned toward Hullin, and said: "I am ordered, commandant, to offer you the honors of war if you will consent to give up this position. You have no provisions, we know that. In a few days you will be obliged to lay down your arms. The esteem felt for you by our general has alone caused him to make you honorable conditions. A longer resistance would be useless. We are masters of the Donon, our battalions are entering Lorraine; the campaign will not be concluded here, therefore you have no interest in defending such a position. We wish to spare you the horrors of famine on this barren rock. Come, commandant, decide."
Hullin turned toward the partisans and said to them: "You have heard? I refuse; but I will submit if everybody accepts the propositions of the enemy."
"We refuse, all of us," said Jérome.
"Yes, all," replied the others.
Catherine Lefèvre, who had looked inflexible till then, regarded Louise and seemed touched; she took her by the arm, and turning toward the officer, said to him: "We have a child with us; is there no means by which we could send her to one of our relations at Saverne?"
Hardly had Louise heard these words, than throwing herself into Hullin's arms with fear, she cried out: "No, no, I will remain with you, Papa Jean-Claude; I will die with you."
"Well," said Hullin; "go tell your general what you have seen: tell him that the Falkenstein will be ours till death! Kasper, Frantz, reconduct the truce-bearer."
The officer appeared to hesitate, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Catherine, pale with rage, exclaimed, "Begone! you have not yet gained all the advantages you think. It is that brigand Yégof who has told you that we have no provisions; but we have for two months, and by that time our army will have exterminated you all. Traitors will not always have the best of it: bad luck to you."
Seeing she was becoming more and more excited, the officer thought it best to take his departure: he turned to his guides, who put the bandages over his eyes, and conducted him to the foot of the Falkenstein.
The instructions which Hullin had given concerning the provisions were executed on the same day, and each received his half ration. A sentry was placed before Hexe-Baizel's cavern, where the food was kept; the door was barricaded, and Jean-Claude decided that the distributions should be made in the presence of all, so as to prevent any injustice; but all these precautions were destined to fail in preserving the unfortunate people from the horrors of famine.