The Great Invasion of 1813-14; or, After Leipzig / Being a story of the entry of the allied forces into Alsace and Lorraine, and their march upon Paris after the Battle of Leipzig, called the Battle of the Kings and Nations

by Erckmann-Chatrian

FOOTNOTES:

[11] A sort of sledge peculiar to the district of the Vosges.

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CHAPTER XXI.

About ten o'clock in the evening, Catherine Lefévre and Louise, having wished Hullin good-night, went up into the room overhead. There were two large feather beds; and the tall bedsteads, nearly as high as the ceiling, with their long curtains, striped blue and red, had an extremely warm and comfortable appearance.

"Come," exclaimed the old farm-mistress, getting upon her chair, "come, sleep well, my child; for my part, I am quite worn out; I can keep up no longer."

She drew the bed-clothes over her, and in less than five minutes after she was sound asleep.

Louise, being also exhausted, was not long in following her example.

Now this had lasted about a couple of hours, when the old woman was awakened with a start by a fearful tumult. Everything was in an uproar.

"To arms!" was the cry—"to arms! Hi! this way, a thousand thunders! they are upon us!"

Five or six shots followed, illuminating the dark window-panes.

"To arms! to arms!"

The shots were heard again. People were hurrying to and fro. Then Hullin's voice was heard—sharp, penetrating, issuing orders. Then to the left of the farm, a good distance off, came a sound like a heavy prolonged crackling in the gorges of the Grosmann.

"Louise, Louise!" exclaimed Catherine, "did you hear that noise?"

"Yes. Oh! heavens! how terrible!"

Catherine jumped out of bed.

"Get up, my child," said she; "let us dress ourselves."

The shots were by this time redoubled, and kept passing like flashes of lightning across the window-panes.

"Attention!" shouted Materne.

With these sounds were mingled the neighing of a horse outside, and the trampling of a multitude of people in the alley, in the court-yard, and in front of the farm; the house seemed shaken to its very foundations.

All at once the firing was replied to from the windows of the room on the ground floor. The two women dressed themselves in haste. At this moment the staircase creaked under a heavy footstep; the door opened, and Hullin appeared with a lantern, pale, his hair in disorder, and every sign of agitation visible in his face.

"Make haste!" he exclaimed; "we have not a moment to lose."

"Why, what is happening?" asked Catherine anxiously.

The firing was evidently coming nearer and nearer.

"What?" exclaimed Jean-Claude, almost beside himself, and wildly tossing up his arms; "do you think I have time to explain things to you?"

The farm-mistress saw that there was nothing to do but obey orders. She took her hood, and 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 valley on to the barricades, while ten others behind them kept loading and handing the guns to them, so that they had nothing to do but to take aim and fire. All this motley group, busily engaged in loading, shouldering, and firing, gave a terrible aspect to the scene. Three or four dead bodies, propped up against the old decayed wall, added to the horror of the combat; the smoke was beginning to make its way rapidly into the dwelling.

When they had reached the foot of the staircase, Hullin exclaimed: "Here they are, thanks be to God!" And all the brave fellows about there, looking up and seeing them, called out, "Courage! Mother Lefévre!"

Then the poor old dame, her frame quite shattered by so many emotions, began to cry. She leaned on the shoulder of Jean-Claude; but the latter passed his strong arm round her, and carried her off like a feather, running all along the wall to the right. Louise followed, crying and sobbing.

Out of doors nothing was to be heard but the whizzing of bullets through the air, heavy thuds against the wall; bricks and mortar were giving way, and tiles flying about in all directions, and exactly opposite, in the vicinity of the barricades, three hundred paces off, were to be seen the white uniforms, in line, lit up by their own fire in the thick darkness of night, and then to their left, on the other side of the ravine of the Minières, the mountaineers, who were taking them in the flank.

Hullin disappeared at the turning by the farm; there all was plunged in darkness. It was as much as you could do to catch a glimpse of Doctor Lorquin on horseback in front of a sleigh, a long cavalry sword in his hand, two holster-pistols in his belt, and Frantz Materne, with a dozen of men, with grounded arms, trembling with rage. Hullin placed Catherine in the sledge, on a truss of straw, and then Louise beside her.

"There you are!" exclaimed the doctor, "and it's a very lucky thing!"

And Frantz Materne added: "If it had not been for you, Dame Lefévre, you may easily believe that not one of us would quit this spot to-night; but when you are in the case, there is nothing to say."

"No," cried the others; "there is nothing to say."

At the same moment, a great tall, long-backed fellow, with legs as long as a heron's, came from behind the wall, running at full speed, and shouting: "The enemy! Fly! save yourselves!"

Hullin turned as pale as death.

"It is the great grinder of the Harberg," said he, gnashing his teeth.

Frantz said not a word; he shouldered his carbine, took aim, and fired.

Louise saw the grinder, thirty paces off in the shadow, stretch out his two long arms, and fall, face downwards, to the ground.

Frantz re-loaded his gun, smiling with a strange expression.

Hullin said: "Comrades, here is our mother; she who has given us powder, and supplied us with food for the defence of our country, and here is my child save them!"

They all replied, with one voice: "We will save them, or perish with them."

"And do not forget to tell Divès that he is to remain at the Falkenstein till further orders."

"All right, Master Jean-Claude."

"Then forward, doctor, forward!" cried the brave man.

"And you, Hullin?" said Catherine.

"For me, my place is here; we shall have to defend our position to the death!"

"Papa Jean-Claude!" cried Louise, stretching out her arms to him.

But he had already turned the corner; the doctor struck his horse, the sleigh sped over the snow, and behind followed Frantz Materne and his men, carbine on shoulder, while the firing still continued all round the farm. This is what Catherine Lefévre and Louise beheld in the space of a few minutes. Something strange and terrible had doubtless happened during the night. The old farm-mistress, recollecting her dream, grew silent and absorbed. Louise dried her tears, and threw a long look on the hillside she was leaving, and which was all alight, as if on fire. The horse, urged by the doctor, went at full speed; the mountaineers who formed the escort could hardly keep up with him. For a long time still the tumult, the sounds of the combat, the explosions, the hissing of bullets whistling through the trees, continued to be heard; but all this, by degrees, grew less and less, and in a short time, at the descent of the path, all had disappeared as in a dream.

The sledge had just reached the other acclivity of the mountain, and was speeding like an arrow through the darkness of the night. The gallop of the horse, the hurried breathing of the escort, the occasional cry of the doctor, "Up, Bruno! come up, then!" alone disturbed the silence.

A strong gust of cold air coming up from the valleys of the Sarre, brought from a distance, like a sigh, the ceaseless sounds of the torrents and the woods. The moon, just emerging from behind the cloud, shed her pale light over the gloomy forests of the Blanru with their tall fir-trees loaded with snow.

Ten minutes after, the sledge reached the corner of these woods, and Doctor Lorquin, turning round on his saddle, called out:

"Now, Frantz, what shall we do? This is the path which leads towards the hills of St. Quirin, and this other leads down to the Blanru; which shall we take?"

Frantz and his escort had come up with them. As they found themselves then on the eastern declivity of the Donon, they began to see again, on the other side, high in air, the firing of the Germans who came by the Grosmann.

They saw nothing but the flashes, and a few instants after the reports awoke the echoes of the abyss.

"The path by the hills of St. Quirin," said Frantz, "is the shortest way to the farm of Bois-des-Chênes; we shall gain at least three-quarters of an hour."

"Yes," cried the doctor; "but we risk being stopped by the kaiserlicks, who now hold the pass of the Sarre. See, they are already masters of the heights; they have, no doubt, sent detachments on to Sarre-Rouge to secure the passage of the Donon."

"Let us take the path by the Blanru," said Frantz; "it is longer, but it is safer."

The sleigh descended the path, to the left through the woods. The volunteers marched one behind the other, gun in hand, on the rising ground, while the doctor on horseback in the road beneath made his way through the untrodden snow that lay thick upon the ground. Above hung the branches of the dark fir-trees overshadowing the gloomy pathway, while all around the moon was shining brightly. As they proceeded thus for about a quarter of an hour, in silence, Catherine, after having held her tongue for a long while, not being able to contain herself any longer, exclaimed:

"Doctor Lorquin, now that you have got us into the pass of the Blanru, and can do what you like with us, perhaps you will be good enough to explain why we have been taken away by force? Jean-Claude came and caught me up in his arms, and tossed me on to this truss of straw, and here I am!"

"Houp, Bruno!" said the doctor.

Then he gravely replied:—"To-night, Dame Catherine, the worst of misfortunes has befallen us. You must not be angry with Jean-Claude, for through the fault of another, we lose the fruit of all our sacrifices."

"By whose fault?"

"Of that unlucky Labarbe, who has not held the pass of the Blutfeld. He has since died doing his duty; but that does not repair the disaster, and if Piorette does not come in time to the support of Hullin, all is lost! We must yield our posts, and beat a retreat."

"What! Blutfeld is taken?"

"Yes, Dame Catherine; who the deuce would have ever thought that the Germans could approach that way? A defile almost impracticable for foot passengers, hemmed in as it is between perpendicular rocks, where the shepherds themselves can hardly descend with their flocks of goats. Well, they passed through there, two by two; surprised Roche-Creuse; they killed Labarbe, and then fell upon Jerôme, who defended himself like a lion until nine o'clock in the evening; but, at the last, he was obliged to fly into the fir forest, and leave the passage free to the kaiserlicks. That is the whole of the story. It is fearful. There must have been in the country some man cowardly enough, vile enough, to guide the enemy to our rear, and deliver us up, bound hand and foot. Oh! the wretch!" exclaimed Lorquin, his voice quivering with rage. "I am not naturally cruel; but if he should fall into my clutches, I would tear him to pieces! Houp, Bruno! come up!"

The volunteers still continued their way along the rising ground, silently, like shadows.

The sleigh again set off at full gallop, then, after a while, relaxed its speed; the horse was panting for breath.

The old farm-mistress continued silent, to arrange these fresh ideas in her head.

"I begin to understand," said she, after a few moments; "we have been attacked to-night in front and on the side."

"Exactly so, Catherine; fortunately, ten minutes before the attack, one of Marc Divès' men—a smuggler, Zimmer, the ex-dragoon—came in breathless haste to put us on our guard. But for that, we should have been lost. He came up with our vanguard, after having ran the gauntlet of a whole regiment of Cossacks on the side of the Grosmann. The poor devil had received a terrible sword-thrust; his bowels were hanging over his saddle; were they not, Frantz?"

"Yes," gloomily replied the young huntsman.

"And what did he say?" asked the old farm-mistress.

"He had only time to cry, 'To arms! we are surprised. Jerôme has sent me. Labarbe is dead. The Germans have forced the Blutfeld.'"

"He was a brave man," said Catherine.

"Yes, he was a brave man!" replied Frantz, despondingly.

Then all became silent again, and for a long time the sleigh continued to wend its way along the winding valley.

At times it was obliged to stop, the snow was so deep; three or four mountaineers then got down to lead the horse by the bridle, and they thus continued on their way.

"But, for all that," rejoined Catherine, suddenly rousing herself from her reverie, "Hullin might just as well have told me."

"But if he had told you of those two attacks," interrupted the doctor, "you would have wanted to stay behind."

"And who could have prevented my doing what I wish? If I pleased now to alight at this moment from the sleigh and go back, should I not be free to do so I have forgiven Jean-Claude, and I am sorry that I did so."

"Oh! Mother Lefévre, if he should happen to be killed while you were saying that?" murmured Louise.

"The child is right," thought Catherine; and then quickly added: "I say that I am sorry for it; but he is such a brave and worthy man that you cannot be angry with him. I forgive him with all my heart; in his place I should have acted like him."

Two or three hundred paces further on, they entered the defile of the Roches. The snow had ceased to fall; the moon was shining brightly between two large black and white clouds. The narrow gorge, shut in by steep rocks, lay stretched in the distance, and on the mountain sides, tall fir-trees lifted their lofty tops to the skies. Nothing disturbed the deep silence of the woods; you might have thought yourself far away from any human agitation. The silence was so profound that not only was every one of the horse's steps distinctly heard on the snow, but at times even his heavy breathing. Frantz Materne would sometimes stop, and cast a hasty, anxious glance around, then step out quickly again to overtake the others.

And valleys succeeded to valleys. The sleigh ascended, descended, turned to the right, then to the left, while the mountaineers, with the glitter of their steel bayonets just visible in the greyish dawn, as perseveringly followed it.

They had just reached thus, about four o'clock in the morning, the meadow of the Brimbelles, where there may be seen in our own day a large oak just at the turn of the valley. On the other side, on the left, in the midst of trees and shrubs all white with snow, behind its little stone wall, and the palings of its little garden, the old house of the keeper Cuny was just beginning to be visible, with its three beehives safely fixed on a plank, its old knotty vine creeping to the very top of its shelving roof, and its little branch of fir suspended outside in form of a sign, for Cuny carried on also the trade of publican in this solitary place.

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CHAPTER XXII.

At the spot which the sleigh and the convoy had reached, the road winds round at the higher portion of the level ground, which lies four or five feet below, and as a thick cloud veiled the moon, the doctor, afraid of upsetting his equipage, stopped under the oak.

"We have only about an hour's journey more, Dame Lefévre," said he, "so be of good heart; we are out of danger now."

"Yes," said Frantz; "we have got the worst part over, and now we can let the horse take a little breath."

All the band gathered round the sleigh, and the doctor alighted. Some struck a match to light their pipes, but no one said anything, for they were all thinking of the Donon. What was passing there? Would Jean-Claude succeed in holding his position until the arrival of Piorette? So many painful things, so many mournful reflections passed through the minds of these brave fellows, that no one had the least desire to speak.

When they had been standing for about five minutes beneath the old oak, just as the cloud was slowly retiring, and the pale moonlight streamed through the gorge, all at once, at two hundred paces opposite them, a dark figure on horseback appeared in the footpath among the fir-trees. The moon's rays, falling full on this tall dark figure, revealed distinctly to them a Cossack, with his sheepskin cap, and his long lance under his arm, the point behind. He was coming along at a gentle trot. Frantz had already taken aim, when behind the first appeared another lance, then another Cossack, then another, and among the dark shadows of the trees, and under the pale canopy of heaven, the trampling of horses and glittering of lances announced the approach of the Cossacks in single file, who were coming straight towards the sledge, but leisurely, like people who are searching for something, some with upturned faces, others leaning forward over the saddle as though to look underneath the bushes; altogether there were more than thirty of them.

Judge of the emotion of Louise and Catherine, seated on their sleigh in the middle of the road. They looked at each other in open-mouthed surprise. Another moment, and they would be in the midst of those bandits. The mountaineers seemed stupefied; it was impossible to return: on one side the meadow slope to descend, on the other the mountain to climb. The old farm-mistress, in her distress, took Louise by the arm, exclaiming: "Let us escape into the woods!"

She attempted to get out of the sleigh, but her shoe stuck fast in the straw.

Suddenly one of the Cossacks uttered a guttural exclamation, which ran through the whole line.

"We are discovered!" cried Doctor Lorquin, drawing his sword.

He had hardly said the word when a dozen shots lit up the path from one end to the other, and a regular howling of savages replied to the volley; the Cossacks crossed from the path into the meadow opposite, their reins hanging loosely, knees squared, urging their horses to their utmost speed, and making for the keeper's house with the fleetness of stags.

"Ha! they must be riding to the devil!" cried the doctor.

But the worthy man spoke too soon; at two or three hundred paces down in the valley, the Cossacks suddenly wheeled round, like a flock of starlings describing a circle—then, with poised lance, and nose bent down between their horses' ears, they galloped furiously right down upon the mountaineers, uttering their hoarse war-cry: "Hurrah! hurrah!"

It was a terrible moment!

Frantz and the others flung themselves on the wall to cover the sledge.

Two seconds after, nothing was heard but the clashing of lances and bayonets, cries of rage answering to imprecations; nothing seen under the shadow of the old oak, through whose branches some pale rays of light still glimmered, but horses rearing on their hind legs, wildly tossing their manes, madly striving to leap over the meadow wall, and above, veritably savage faces, with gleaming eyes, uplifted arms, hurling furious blows, advancing, retreating, and uttering wild shouts fit to make the hair stand erect upon your head.

Louise, as pale as death, and the old farm-mistress, with her long thin gray locks, were standing up in the straw.

Doctor Lorquin stood before them, parrying the blows with his sword, and all the while he was warding them off he kept shouting: "Lie down! Death and destruction! keep down, will you?"

But they did not hear him.

Louise, in the midst of this tumult, of these savage shouts, thought of nothing but shielding Catherine; and the old farm-mistress—judge of her terror!—had just recognised Yégof, on a tall, bony horse—Yégof, his tin crown on his head, his matted beard, his lance in hand, and his long sheepskin floating from his shoulders. She saw him there as plainly as if it had been broad daylight; yes, it was he whose sinister face she beheld ten paces off, with its flaming eyes, darting forth his long blue lance and striving to reach her. What should she do? Submit, yield to her fate? Thus it is that the firmest natures feel themselves forced to bow before an inflexible destiny. The old woman believed herself doomed beforehand; she believed herself foredoomed, and gazed on all those ferocious men, yelling and leaping like so many hungry wolves, aiming and receiving blows in the soft clear moonlight. She saw some struck down, and their horses, the bridle hanging over their neck, escaping into the meadow. She saw the uppermost windows in the keeper's house open on the left, and old Cuny, in his shirt-sleeves, level his gun, without daring to fire into the mêlée. She saw all these with singular clearness, and kept saying to herself: "The fool has returned: whatever happens, he will hang my head to his saddle. It must end as it did in my dream!"

And, in truth, everything seemed to justify her fears. The mountaineers, too inferior in number, were giving way.

There was a regular hand-to-hand encounter. The Cossacks, leaping up the ascent, fought in the path; one sword-thrust, better directed than the others, reached the back of the old woman's head; she felt the touch of the cold steel just in the nape of her neck.

"Oh! the wretches!" she shrieked, falling back, and supporting herself with her two hands at her back.

Doctor Lorquin himself had just been knocked against the sleigh. Frantz and the rest, surrounded by twenty Cossacks, could not run to their assistance. Louise felt a hand laid upon her shoulder; it was the hand of the fool, still bestriding his tall horse.

At this supreme moment, the poor child, mad with fear, uttered a cry of agony; at the same moment she caught sight of something shining in the dark, the pistols of Lorquin, and, quick as lightning, snatching them from the doctor's belt, she fired both shots at once, scorching the beard of Yégof, whose pale face was lit up by the flash, and shattering the skull of a Cossack who was leaning towards her, his white eyes distended with desire.

In another instant, she seized Catherine's whip, and, standing up, pale as a corpse, she lashed the flanks of the horse, who set off at full gallop. The sleigh flew wildly along; it swayed to the right and left. All of a sudden, there was a violent shock; Catherine, Louise, and all rolled in the snow down the steep descent of the ravine. The horse suddenly stopped short, thrown back upon his haunches, his mouth covered with bloody foam.

Rapid as this fall had been, Louise had seen some shadows pass like the wind behind the trees. She had heard a terrible voice, that of Divès, shout: "Forward! Stab, stab!"

It was but a vision, one of those confused apparitions such as pass before our eyes at our last hour; but as she arose, no doubt remained in the poor girl's mind; a sharp conflict was raging at twenty paces from her, behind a ridge of trees, and Marc was shouting lustily: "Courage, lads! no quarter!"

Then she saw a dozen Cossacks climbing up the opposite side of the mountain, through the bushes, like hares, and above, in the broad light of the moon, Yégof crossing the valley at his utmost speed, like a frightened bird. Several shots were sent after him, but the fool escaped them all, and, drawing himself up to his full height in his spurs, he turned round, brandishing his lance with a defiant air, and uttering a loud hurrah in the shrill tone of a heron who has just escaped from the talons of the eagle, and wings his rapid flight through the air.

Two shots were again sent after him from the keeper's house; something, a shred of his rags, detached itself from the person of the fool, who continued his way, repeating his hurrahs in a hoarse accent while scaling the path his comrades had taken.

And all this vision disappeared as in a dream.

Then Louise turned round; Catherine was standing beside her, not less dumfounded, but not less watchful. They looked at each other for a moment, and then threw themselves into each other's arms with a feeling of inexpressible relief.

"We are saved!" murmured Catherine. And, woman-like, they both began to cry.

"You have behaved bravely," said the farm-mistress—"well, very well. Jean-Claude, Gaspard, and I, we may be proud of you."

Louise was agitated by such profound emotion that she trembled from head to foot. The danger past, her own gentle nature regained the ascendancy; she was at a loss to account for the courage she had just shown.

In another moment, finding themselves a little recovered, they were preparing to climb back into the road, when they saw five or six of the mountaineers and the doctor coming to look after them.

"Ah! it's no use for you to cry, Louise," said Lorquin; "you are a dragon, a right-down imp. Now, your heart's in your mouth to look at you, but we all saw you at work. And, by-the-bye, my pistols—where are they?"

At this moment there was a rustling among the bushes, and the tall form of Marc Divès appeared, sword in hand, while he exclaimed:

"Holloa! Dame Catherine; those are rough adventures. A thousand thunders! what a lucky chance that I should happen to be there! Those beggars would rifle you from head to foot!"

"Yes," said the old farm-mistress, pushing her gray hair under her cap, "it is most fortunate."

"Fortunate! Ah! I believe you. It is not more than ten minutes since I arrived with my ammunition waggon at Cuny's house. 'Don't go to the Donon,' said he to me; 'for the last hour the sky has been all red on that side. There is fighting going on there, you may be sure.' 'You think so?' 'Yes, I do indeed.' 'Then Joson shall go out and look about and see how the land lays.' 'Good.' Joson had no sooner gone than I hear shouts like five hundred devils. 'What's the matter, Cuny?' 'Can't say.' We push the door open, and we see the hurly-burly. Ha!" continued the tall smuggler, "it did not take me long to be among them. I leap on my good horse, Fox, and then forward. What a piece of luck!"

"Ah!" said Catherine, "if we were only sure that our affairs were going as well as the Donon, we might rejoice in good earnest."

"Yes, yes, Frantz told me all about that—that's the devil; there must be always some hitch," replied Marc. "In short—in short, we are still stuck fast here, with our feet in the snow. Let us hope that Piorette will not leave his comrades long in that plight, and now let us empty our glasses, which are still half full."

Other smugglers had just arrived, saying that that wretch of a Yégof might be back soon, with a lot more of his own sort at his back.

"That is true," replied Divès. "We will return to the Falkenstein, since that is Jean-Claude's order; but we cannot take our waggon with us; it would prevent our taking the cross-roads, and, in an hour, all those bandits would be down on us tooth and nail. Let us go, in the first place, back to Cuny's; Catherine and Louise will not be sorry to drink a cup of wine, nor the others either; it will warm their hearts for them. Come up, Bruno!"

He took the horse by the bridle. Two wounded men had just been laid on the sleigh. Two others having been killed, with seven or eight Cossacks lying dead upon the snow, their large boots wide apart, were obliged to be abandoned, and they proceeded directly towards the house of the old ranger. Frantz was consoling himself for not having been at the Donon. He had run two Cossacks through, and the sight of the inn besides tended to put him into good humour. In front of the door the ammunition waggon was stationed. Cuny came out to meet them, exclaiming:

"Welcome, Dame Lefévre; what a night for women! Sit down! What is going on up above there?"

Whilst they were hastily draining a bottle, he was obliged to have everything explained to him over again. The good old man, dressed in a simple jerkin and green breeches, with his wrinkled face and bald head, listened eagerly, his eyes quite round with surprise, his hands clasped as he exclaimed:

"Good God! good God! what times we live in! Now-a-days you cannot go along the high road without the risk of being attacked. It is worse than the old stories of the Swedes."

And he shook his head.

"Come," cried Divès, "time presses; let us be going!"

When all were ready to start, the smugglers led the waggon, which contained some thousands of cartridges and two little barrels of brandy, about five hundred yards off; they then unharnessed the horses.

"Now, keep going on!" cried Marc, "in a few minutes we will rejoin you."

"But what are you going to do with that vehicle there?" asked Frantz. "Since we have not time to take it back to the Falkenstein, better put it safe under Cuny's shed than leave it in the middle of the road."

"Yes, to get the poor old fellow strung up when the Cossacks arrive, for they will be here before another hour. Don't trouble yourself about anything. I know what I'm about."

Frantz rejoined the sleigh, which set out on its way. In a short time they passed the sawpit, and then took a short cut to the right to reach the farm of Bois-des-Chênes, whose tall chimney was discernible three-quarters of a league off.

When they were halfway up the mountain, Marc Divès and his men overtook them, calling out to them: "Halt! stop a little while. Look down below there."

And they all, having looked behind towards the bottom of the gorge, saw the Cossacks caracoling round the cart, to the number of two or three hundred.

"They are here! Let us fly!" cried Louise.

"Stay a little," replied the smuggler; "we have nothing to fear."

He was just speaking, when an immense sheet of flame extended its two crimson wings from one mountain to the other, illuminating the woods and rocks to their very summits, as well as the little house of the ranger, then came such an explosion that it made the very earth tremble.

And as all the bewildered spectators stood looking at each other, for the moment speechless and spell-bound with fear, Marc's loud peals of laughter mingled with the sounds that still rang in their ears.

"Ha! ha! ha!" he exclaimed, "I was sure that the beggars would stop around the waggon to drink my brandy, and that the match would have time to reach the powder! You think they are likely to follow us, do you? I tell you what, their arms and legs are by this time hanging to the branches of the fir-trees! Come on; and may Heaven do as much to all those who attempt to cross the Rhine!"

All the escort, the mountaineers, the doctor—everybody, had grown silent again. So many terrible emotions inspired each one with endless thought, quite different from those of ordinary life. They could not help saying to themselves: "What are men, thus to destroy, torment, devour, and ruin each other? What have they done, that they should hate each other so? And what can the ferocious spirit that excites them to it be, if it's not the devil himself?"

Divès and his men alone could behold such things unmoved, and while they galloped away, laughed and applauded themselves.

"For my part," said the tall smuggler, "I never saw such a capital joke. Ha! ha! ha! I shall never stop laughing at it, if I live for a thousand years."

Then all of a sudden a gloom came over him, and he exclaimed:

"For all that, this must be Yégof's work. We must be blind not to see that it is he who led the Germans to the Blutfeld. I should be sorry if he had met his end by the blowing up of my cart. I have something better in store for him. All I desire is, that he may keep all right until we chance to meet each other somewhere in the corner of a wood. If I have to wait a year, ten, twenty years, no matter, so it comes at last. The longer I shall have waited, the better my appetite will be: tit-bits are good cold, like boar's head cooked in white wine."

He said this in a laughing, good-humoured way, but those who knew him augured from it no good to Yégof.

In half an hour after they had all arrived before the farm of Bois-des-Chênes.

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CHAPTER XXIII.

Jerôme de St. Quirin had safely effected his retreat upon the farm. Since midnight he had occupied the rising ground on which it stood.

"Who goes there?" was the challenge of the sentinels as the escort approached.

"It is us—us from the village of Charmes," replied Marc Divès in his stentorian voice.

They were recognised and allowed to pass.

The farm was wrapped in silence. An armed sentinel was walking up and down before the barn, where about thirty of the mountaineers were asleep upon some straw. Catherine, at sight of those heavy gabled roofs, those old outhouses, those stables, of all that ancient dwelling-place within whose walls she had passed her youth, where her father and her grandfather had tranquilly spent their peaceful and industrious lives, and which she was about to abandon, perhaps for ever, Catherine felt a terrible oppression of the heart; but she kept the feeling to herself, and springing from the sleigh, just as in former times she used to return from market:

"Well, Louise," said she, "here we are at home again, thanks be to God."

Old Duchêne had come and opened the door, exclaiming:

"Ah! is it you, Madame Lefévre?"

"Yes, it is us! No news of Jean-Claude?"

"No, Madam."

Then they all went into the large kitchen.

Some embers were still blazing on the hearth, and under shadow of the immense chimney-piece was sitting Jerôme de Saint-Quirin, with his large cloth hood, his sandy pointed beard, his thick stick between his knees, and his carbine resting against the wall.

"Good-morrow, Jerôme," said the old farm-mistress.

"Good-morrow, Catherine," answered the grave and solemn leader of the Grosmann, "you come from the Donon?"

"Yes. Things are taking a bad turn, my poor Jerôme! we were obliged to leave the farm, because it was attacked by the kaiserlicks. There was nothing but white uniforms to be seen on every side. They were just beginning to pass the barricades."

"Then you think that Hullin will be obliged to abandon the position?"

"If Piorette does not come to his assistance, it is possible!"

The mountaineers had drawn near the fire. Marc Divès was stooping over the ashes to light his pipe; as he raised himself up, he exclaimed:

"For my part, Jerôme, I only wish to ask you one thing: I know already that the men under your command fought well."

"We did our duty," replied the shoemaker; "there are sixty men lying dead on the side of the Grosmann, who will be able to say as much at the last judgment."

"Yes; but who, then, was it that acted as guide to the Germans? They could not of themselves have found out the passage of the Blutfeld."

"It is Yégof, the fool Yégof," said Jerôme, whose gray eyes, circled by deep wrinkles, and overhung by thick white eyebrows, seemed really to flash with fire as he spoke.

"Ah! You are quite sure of it?"

"Labarbe's men saw him in the act—he was leading the others."

The mountaineers regarded each other with looks of indignation.

At this moment Doctor Lorquin, who had stayed outside to unharness the horse, opened the door, exclaiming:

"The pass is lost! Here are our men from the Donon; I have just heard Lagarmitte's horn."

It is easy to imagine the emotion of the bystanders. Every one began to think of the relations, the friends, whom he might perhaps never see again, and all, including those in the kitchen and the barn, rushed out to learn the news. At the same moment, Robin and Dubourg, who were placed as sentinels on the Bois-des-Chênes, exclaimed:

"Who goes there?"

"France," replied a voice.

And, in spite of the distance, Louise, thinking she recognised her father's voice, was seized with such a sudden emotion, that Catherine was obliged to support her in her arms.

Almost immediately the sound of a number of footsteps was heard upon the hard crisp snow, and Louise, no longer able to contain herself, cried out, in a trembling voice:

"Papa Jean-Claude!"

"Here I am," replied Hullin, "here I am!"

"My father?" exclaimed Frantz Materne, running to meet Jean-Claude.

"He is with us, Frantz."

"And Kasper?"

"He has received a little scratch; nothing worth speaking of; you will see them both directly."

At the same moment Catherine threw herself into Hullin's arms.

"Oh! Jean-Claude, what happiness to see you again!"

"Yes," said the brave man, in a sorrowful tone, "there are many who will never behold those they love again."

"Frantz," old Materne was then heard calling out, "here! this way!"

And on all sides nothing was to be seen but people looking for each other, shaking hands and embracing. Others were calling, "Niclau! Sapheri!" but from more than one no answer came.

Then the voices grew hoarse, as if stifling, and ended by being silent. The joy of some, and the consternation of others, imparted a sort of terror to the scene.

Louise was weeping freely in Hullin's arms.

"Ah! Jean-Claude," said Dame Lefévre, "you have got something to hear about that child there. At present I shall not tell you anything, except that we were attacked."

"Oh! yes. We will talk of all that by-and-by. We have no time to lose now," said Hullin. "The pass of the Donon is lost, the Cossacks may be here by daybreak, and we have still many things to do."

He turned the corner and entered the farm; every one followed him. Duchêne had just thrown a fresh log on to the fire. Those faces blackened with powder, still flushed with fighting, their garments torn by bayonets, some stained with blood, advancing from the shadowy darkness outside into the full light cast by the blazing fire, presented a singular and striking spectacle. Kasper had his forehead bound up with his handkerchief, having received a cut from a sabre. His bayonet, the front of his dress, and his long blue cloth gaiters were spotted with blood. As for old Materne, he, thanks to his imperturbable presence of mind, returned safe and sound from the strife and carnage. The remnants of the two troops of Jerôme and Hullin thus found themselves re-united.

There were the same wild figures, inspired by the same energy and the same spirit of vengeance; only the latter, harassed by fatigue, were sitting right and left, on logs of wood, on the edge of the sink, on the low stones of the hearth, with their head between their hands, their elbows on their knees. Others were staring vacantly about them, and not being able to convince themselves of the disappearance of Hans, and Joson, and Daniel, were exchanging questions, which were followed by long intervals of silence. Materne's two sons were holding each other by the arm, as if they were afraid of losing one another, and their father, behind them, leaning against the wall, with his elbow resting on his gun, was regarding them with a contented air. "There they are; I see them," he seemed to be saying to himself; "they are famous fellows! They have both come off with whole skins." And the worthy man coughed gently behind his hand. If any one came to him to ask about Pierre, or Jacques, or Nicolas, he would answer at random: "Yes, yes; there are plenty of them down below there lying on their backs. But what would you have? It's the fortune of war. Your Nicolas has done his duty. You must console yourself with that." And in the meanwhile he was thinking to himself: "Mine are not left in the lurch; that's what I care about most."

Catherine was laying the table, assisted by Louise. In a short time, Duchêne came up from the cellar with a barrel of wine on his shoulder, which he placed on the dresser; he tapped it, and then every one of the mountaineers brought his glass, his mug, or his jug, and filled it from the purple stream that glistened in the blazing light of the fire.

"Eat and drink!" cried the good farm-mistress; "it is not over yet, and you've still need of all your strength. Here, Frantz, take down those hams for me. Here is bread, knives; and now sit down, my children."

Frantz made a spit of his bayonet, and hung up the hams in the wide fire-place.

They drew the benches forward, they sat down, and, in spite of their grief, proceeded to eat with that vigorous appetite of which neither present griefs nor cares for the future can wholly deprive strong men. But that did not prevent a poignant sorrow clutching at the heart of these brave fellows, and first one and then another would suddenly stop, and, laying down his fork, quit the table, saying, "I have had enough."

While the mountaineers were thus repairing their strength, their leaders were assembled in the next room, making fresh dispositions for the defence. They were sitting round the table, lighted by a solitary tin lamp; Doctor Lorquin, with his great dog Pluto by his side, Jerôme in the angle of a window on the right, Hullin on the left, quite pale. Marc Divès, with his elbow on the table, his cheek on his hand, had his broad shoulders turned to the door: he only showed his brown profile and one of the corners of his long moustache. Materne alone remained standing, as usual, against the wall, behind Lorquin's chair, his gun at his feet. From the kitchen came the hum of voices.

When Catherine, sent for by Hullin, entered, she heard a sort of groaning sound which caused her to start. It was Hullin who was speaking.

"All those brave lads, all those fathers of families who fell one after the other," he was saying, in a tone of bitter grief, "do you think that it does not wring my very heart? Do you think that I would not rather a thousand times over have been massacred myself? Ah! You know not what I have suffered this night! To lose your own life is nothing, but to bear alone the weight of such a responsibility——!"

He was silent, but the quivering of his lips, a tear that rolled slowly down his cheek, his very attitude, all showed the scruples of the honest man, and that he found himself in a situation where conscience herself hesitates and seeks fresh support. Catherine went very gently and seated herself in a large arm-chair on the left. After a few seconds, Hullin added, in a calmer tone: "Between eleven o'clock and midnight, Zimmer arrived, shouting, 'We are taken in the rear! The Germans are coming down from the Grosmann; Labarbe is dead; Jerôme cannot hold out any longer!' And then he said no more. What was to be done? Could I beat a retreat? Could I abandon a position which had cost us so much blood, the pass of the Donon, the road to Paris? If I had done so, should I not have been a poltroon? But I had only three hundred men against four thousand at Grandfontaine, and I don't know how many who came down from the mountain! Well, cost what it would, I resolved to hold out. It was our duty. I said to myself: 'Life is nothing without honour! We will all die; but it shall never be said that we have surrendered the road to France. No, no; it shall never be said!'"

As he spoke these words, Hullin's voice again shook with emotion, his eyes filled with tears, and he added: "We held our post; my brave children held it until two o'clock. I saw them fall around me. As they fell they shouted: 'Hurrah for France!' At the beginning of the action, I had sent to warn Piorette. He arrived at full speed, with about fifty good men. It was already too late; the enemy poured down on us right and left; they held three parts of the ground, and drove us back into the fir-forests on the side of the Blanru; we could not stand against their fire. All that I could do was to collect my wounded, those who were still able to drag themselves away, and place them under the escort of Piorette. About a hundred of my men joined him. For myself, I kept only fifty to go and occupy the Falkenstein. We cut our way through the Germans who would have stopped our retreat. Fortunately the night was dark; but for that, not a soul among us would have escaped. This, then, is the state of things with us; all is lost! The Falkenstein alone is left to us, and we are reduced to three hundred men. The thing is now to know whether we are determined to go on to the end. For myself, I have told you it is painful to me to bear such a heavy responsibility alone. As long as it was a question of defending the pass of the Donon, there could be no doubt about the matter: every one owes his life to his country; but this pass is lost; we should want ten thousand men to enable us to re-take it, and at this very moment the enemy is entering Lorraine. Now then, what is to be done?"

"We must go on to the end," said Jerôme.

"Yes, yes," exclaimed the others.

"Is this your opinion, Catherine?"

"Certainly!" exclaimed the old farm-mistress, whose features expressed inflexible firmness.

Then Hullin, in a firmer tone, proceeded to disclose his plan.

"The Falkenstein is our point of retreat. It is our arsenal; it is there that we have our ammunition; the enemy know it, and will attempt to storm it. To prevent that, we must all of us here present hasten thither to its defence; all the country round must see us, so that they may be able to say—Catherine Lefévre, Jerôme, Materne and his sons, Hullin, Doctor Lorquin, are there. They will not lay down their arms! This thought will reanimate the courage of all honest people. At the same time, Piorette will hold himself in readiness in the woods; his followers will increase every day. The country will soon be over-run with Cossacks—with robbers of every description. As soon as the enemy shall have entered Lorraine, I will make a signal to Piorette; he will throw himself between the Donon and the road, and all the stragglers scattered over the mountain will be caught, as in a net. We may also profit by favourable chances to carry off the convoys of the Germans, harass their reserves, and, if fortune favours us as we must hope, and all these kaiserlicks should be beaten in Lorraine by our army, we shall then be able to cut off their retreat."

Every one rose, and Hullin, entering the kitchen, made this simple address to the mountaineers:

"My friends, we have just decided to resist to the very last. At the same time, every one is free to do as he likes, to lay down his arms, to return to his village; but let those who desire to avenge themselves assemble with us; they shall share our last bit of bread and our last cartridge."

The old bargeman Colon rose and said:

"Hullin, we are all with you; we have begun to fight all together, and we shall finish all together."

"Yes, yes!" cried out all the others.

"You have all decided, then? Very well! listen to me. Jerôme's brother will take the command."

"My brother is dead," interrupted Jerôme; "he is lying on the side of the Grosmann."

There was a moment's silence; then, in a firm voice, Hullin continued:

"Colon, you will take the command of all those who are left, with the exception of the men who formed the escort of Catherine Lefévre, and whom I shall retain with me. You will go and rejoin Piorette in the valley of the Blanru by the way of the Two Rivers."

"And the ammunition?" inquired Marc Divès.

"I have brought back my waggon," said Jerôme; "Colon can make use of it."

"Let the sleigh be got ready as well," exclaimed Catherine; "when the Cossacks come they will plunder everything. We must not let our people go away empty-handed; let them take away the oxen, the cows, and the goats; let them carry off everything; it is so much lost for the enemy."

Five minutes after, the farm was being completely stripped of everything; they were loading the sleigh with hams, smoked meats, bread; leading the cattle from the stables, harnessing the horses to the great waggon; and in a short time the convoy set out on its march, with Robin at the head, and the volunteers behind, pushing at the wheels. When it had disappeared in the woods, and silence suddenly succeeded to all this noise, Catherine, as she turned round, saw Hullin behind her as pale as death.

"Well, Catherine," said he, "all is settled."

Frantz, Kasper, and those who formed the escort, all stood ready armed and waiting in the kitchen.

"Duchêne," said the brave woman, "do you go down to the village; we must not have the enemy ill-treating you on my account."

The old servant then, shaking his white head, and with his eyes full of tears, replied:

"So that I but die here, Madame Lefévre. It is fifty years since I first came to the farm. Do not force me to go away from it; it would be my death."

"As you will, my poor Duchêne," replied Catherine, greatly moved at this proof of her old servant's fidelity. "Here are the keys of the house."

And the poor old man went and sat down on a stool beside the hearth, with his eyes fixed, and his mouth half open, like one lost in a sad and bewildering dream.

They set out on their way to the Falkenstein. Marc Divès on horseback, his long rapier in his hand, formed the rear-guard. Frantz and Hullin were on the left overlooking the mountain side; Kasper and Jerôme on the right of the valley; Materne and the men of the escort surrounded the women.

Strange to say, in front of the cottages of the village of Charmes, on the doorsteps of the houses, at the casements, at the windows, appeared faces young and old, watching with curious eyes this flight of Dame Lefévre, and evil tongues did not spare her.

"Ah! she's come to ruin at last," said they. "This comes of meddling with what does not concern you!"

Others made the reflection aloud that Catherine had been rich quite long enough, and that it was now her turn to come down in the world. As for the industry, the wisdom, the goodness of heart, and all the other virtues of the good old farm-mistress, the patriotism of Jean-Claude, the courage of Jerôme, and Materne and his two sons, the disinterestedness of Doctor Lorquin, the devotion of Marc Divès, no one said anything about them—they were conquered!

---

CHAPTER XXIV.

At the bottom of the valley of the Bouleaux, about two gun-shots from the village of Charmes, on the left, the little troop began to ascend slowly the footpath of the old burg. Hullin, remembering that he had followed the same road when he went to buy powder of Marc Divès, could not help a feeling of deep sadness from stealing over him. Then, in spite of his journey to Phalsbourg, in spite of the spectacle of the wounded of Hanau and of Leipzic, in spite of the old sergeant's recital, he despaired of nothing; he preserved all his energy, and had no fear of the success of the defence. How all was lost: the enemy was descending on Lorraine, the mountaineers were flying. Marc Divès was riding slowly by the side of the wall through the snow; his big horse, accustomed, no doubt, to this journey, kept neighing, tossing up his head, and dropping it down again on his breast, in sudden jerks. The smuggler turned round in his saddle from time to time, to throw a glance back on the farm of Bois-des-Chênes they were quitting. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"Hi! here are the Cossacks in sight!"

At this exclamation all the troops halted to look about. They were already a good way up the mountain, above the village and even the farm of Bois-des-Chênes. The gray wintry dawn was dispersing the mists of morning, and amid the recesses of the mountain were visible the forms of several Cossacks, with head erect, pistol in hand, approaching at a slow pace the old homestead. They were advancing cautiously, and seemed as if they feared a surprise. A few moments after, others appeared in sight, ascending the valley of the Houx, then others still, and all in the same attitude, standing up in their stirrups, to see as far off as possible, like men who are hoping to discover something. The first comers, having passed the farm and observing nothing threatening, waved their lances and wheeled half-round. All the others then galloped up to the spot, like crows following one of their number who has taken wing, supposing he has just discovered a prey. In a few seconds the farm was surrounded, the door opened. Two minutes later, there was a crashing of glass, and out through the windows came furniture, mattrasses, and linen tumbling about in all directions. Catherine, with her hooked nose drawn down to her very lip, looked calmly on this scene of ravage. For a long time she said nothing, but suddenly seeing Yégof, whom she had not perceived until then, strike Duchêne with the butt of his lance, and push him out of the farm, she could not restrain a cry of indignation:

"Oh! the brute! What a coward he must be to strike a poor old man, who cannot defend himself. Ah! the wretch!"

"Come, Catherine," said Jean-Claude, "we've seen enough of it; there's no good in feasting your eyes on that!"

"You are right," said the old farm-mistress; "let us go: I should be tempted to go down among them to avenge myself single-handed."

The higher they ascended the mountain, the clearer and sharper grew the air. Louise, the true daughter of the Heimathslôs, with a little basket of provisions on her arm, was climbing the steep side at the head of the troop. The pale blue sky, the plains of Alsace and Lorraine, and, quite on the verge of the horizon, those of Champagne, all that boundless expanse stretching far as the eye could reach, excited in her breast feelings of the deepest enthusiasm. She seemed as if she had wings to skim the azure vault of heaven, like those great birds which sweep down from the tops of the trees to the abyss below uttering their cry of freedom. All the miseries of this lower world, all its injustices and its sufferings, were forgotten. In fancy Louise again saw herself just a little creature on the back of her mother, the poor strolling gipsy, and said to herself: "I was never more happy, never had less care, never laughed and sang so much! And yet we often wanted bread then. Ah! those were happy days!" And then snatches of old songs would come back to her mind.

At the approaches to the rock, which was of a reddish-brown, incrusted with large black and white pebbles, and inclining over the precipice like the arches of an immense cathedral, Louise and Catherine stopped in an ecstacy of surprise and delight at the scene that lay before them. Overhead, the firmament appeared to them still more spacious, the path cut in the rock still narrower. The valleys stretching away far out of sight, the endless woods, the distant lakes and pools of Lorraine, the narrow streamlet of the Rhine like a blue riband on their right. This grand spectacle touched them deeply, and the old farm-mistress said, with a sort of enthusiasm:

"Jean-Claude, He who has cut this rock that towers to the skies, who has hollowed out these valleys, who has planted the trees, the shrubs, and the mosses of the forest, He will render us the justice we deserve."

As they stood thus regarding the steep and lofty rock, Marc Divès led his horse into a cavern near at hand, then he returned, and beginning the ascent before them, he said to them:

"Take care; it is very slippery."

At the same time he pointed out to them, on their right, the blue precipice with the tops of the tall fir-trees at the bottom.

Every one became silent until they came to the terrace where the vault began. Arrived there, each one seemed to breathe more freely. They saw, about halfway, the smugglers, Brenn, Pfeifer, and Toubac, with their large gray cloaks, and black felt hats, sitting round a fire which seemed to extend the whole length of the rock. Marc Divès said to them:

"Here we are. The kaiserlicks have got the upper hand. Zimmer has been killed to-night. Is Hexe-Baizel up above there?"

"Yes," replied Brenn, "she is making cartridges."

"They may be of use still," said Marc; "keep your eye open, and if you see any one approaching, fire upon him."

The Maternes had stopped on the edge of the rock, and those three tall red fellows, their felt hats pushed back, their powder-flask on their hip, carbine on shoulder, long muscular legs firmly planted on the solid point of the rock, formed a strange and striking group. Old Materne, with outstretched hand, was pointing out at a distance, very far off, an almost imperceptible white speck in the middle of the fir forests, saying:

"Do you know what that is, boys?"

And they all three looked at it with half-closed eyes.

"It is our house," replied Kasper.

"Poor Magrédel!" replied the old huntsman, after a moment's silence. "How uneasy she must have been for the last week! What vows has she not offered up for us to Saint Odile!"

Just at this moment, Marc Divès, who was in front, uttered a cry of surprise. "Dame Lefévre," said he, suddenly stopping short, "the Cossacks have set fire to your farm!"

Catherine received this news with the utmost calmness, and advanced to the very edge of the terrace; Louise and Jean-Claude followed her. The bottom of the abyss was covered with a thick white cloud; through this cloud was to be seen a bright spark in the direction of Bois-des-Chênes, and nothing more; but at intervals, when there was a gust of wind, the fire was distinctly visible. The two tall black gables, the haystack on fire, the little stables with flames bursting from them; then all disappeared again.

"'Tis already nearly over," said Hullin, in a low voice.

"Yes," replied the old farm-mistress, "there goes forty years of labour and toil; but no matter—they cannot burn our good lands, the broad meadows of the Eichmath. We will set to work again. Gaspard and Louise will put that all right. I do not repent of what I have done."

After about a quarter of an hour, there was a regular volley of sparks, and then the whole lay in ruins. The black gables alone were left standing. They then resumed their way up the steep and rocky footpath. As they reached the upper terrace, they heard the sharp voice of Hexe-Baizel:

"Is it you, Catherine?" she exclaimed. "Ah! I never thought that you would come and see me in my poor hole."

Hexe-Baizel and Catherine Lefévre had formerly been school-fellows together, so they now addressed each other in a familiar manner.

"Nor I either," replied the old farm-mistress; "but no matter, Baizel, in misfortune we are always glad to meet with an old friend of our childhood." Baizel seemed touched by the remark.

"All that is here, Catherine, is yours," she exclaimed—"all!"

She pointed to her poor stool, her besom of green broom, and the five or six billets of wood on her hearth. Catherine looked around for some moments in silence, and said:

"It is not much, but it is solid; one comfort, they will not burn your house down."

"No, they will not burn it," said Hexe-Baizel, with a laugh; "they would want a large quantity of wood even to warm it a little. He! he! he!"

The volunteers, after so many fatigues, felt in need of repose, so every one hastened to rest his gun against the wall, and to stretch himself upon the ground. Marc Divès opened the door of the inner cavern for them, where they were at least under shelter; then he went out with Hullin to examine the position.

---

CHAPTER XXV.

On the rock of the Falkenstein, at its very highest point, rises a round tower hollowed out at its base. This tower, covered with brambles, white thorns, and myrtles, seems as old as the mountain itself. Neither French, Germans, nor Swedes have been able to destroy it. The stone and the cement are united so firmly, that not the least fragment can be detached. It has a gloomy and mysterious aspect, which carries you back to bygone times to which the memory of man cannot reach. At the period of the passage of the wild geese, Marc Divès used frequently to lie in ambush there when he had nothing better to do, and sometimes at the fall of day, just as the flocks were arriving through the mist, and describing a large circuit before retiring to rest, he would bring down two or three, to the great delight of Hexe-Baizel, who was always very eager to put them on the spit. Often, too, in the autumn, Marc would spread his nets among the bushes, into which the thrushes would drop without even a struggle; so that, in short, the old tower served him as a sort of storehouse.

How many times had Hexe-Baizel, when the north wind blew hard enough to tear the horns from off the oxen, and the noise, the cracking of the branches, and the hoarse groaning of the surrounding forests ascended on high like the clamour of an angry sea—how many times had Hexe-Baizel been nearly carried away as far as the Kilbéri opposite? But she would cling to the bushes with both hands, and the wind but succeeded in shaking out her red locks.

Divès, having noticed that his wood, from being often covered with snow and steeped with rain, gave out more smoke than flame, had sheltered the old tower with a roof made of planks. On this subject the smuggler had a singular story to relate: He asserted that he had discovered while fixing the rafters, at the bottom of a fissure, an owl as white as snow, blind, and feeble, provided in abundance with field-mice and bats. For this reason he had christened her the Grandmother of the Land, supposing that all the birds came and brought her food on account of her extreme old age and feebleness.

At the close of this day, the mountaineers placed in observation, like the dwellers in a vast hotel, on all the ridges of the rock, saw the white uniforms appear in the neighbouring gorges. They were issuing in vast masses from all sides at once, which showed clearly their intention of blockading the Falkenstein. Marc Divès, seeing that, grew more thoughtful.

"If they surround us," thought he, "we shall no longer be able to procure provisions; we shall have to surrender or perish with hunger."

They could perfectly distinguish the staff officers of the enemy's forces, riding leisurely round the fountain in the village of Charmes. There, too, was one of the great leaders, heavy of body, with a fat paunch, who was surveying the rock with a long telescope; behind him stood Yégof, whom the officer turned round from time to time to question. The women and children formed a circle further off, looking wonderingly on, and five or six Cossacks were caracoling round. The smuggler could not restrain himself any longer; he took Hullin aside:

"Look," said he, "at that long file of shakos appearing all along the Sarre; and on this side too, others who are ascending from the valley like hares, with long strides; they are kaiserlicks, are they not? Well, what are they going to do there, Jean-Claude?"

"They are going to surround the mountain."

"That is very clear. How many do you think there are?"

"From three to four thousand men."

"Without counting those who are dispersed throughout the country. Well, what would you have Piorette do against this host of vagabonds, with his three hundred men? I ask you that plainly, Hullin."

"He can do nothing," replied the brave man, simply. "The Germans know that our ammunition is at the Falkenstein; they fear a rising after their entry into Lorraine, and wish to protect their rear. Their general has discovered that he cannot subdue us by main force; he has resolved to reduce us by famine. All that, Marc, is positive, but we are men, we will do our duty; we will die here!"

There was a moment's silence; Marc Divès knit his brow, and did not seem at all convinced.

"We will die!" he exclaimed, scratching the back of his head. "For my part, I don't at all see why we should die; that does not enter into my ideas, there are too many people who would be delighted at it!"

"What would you do, then?" said Hullin, in a dry tone—"would you surrender?"

"I surrender!" exclaimed the smuggler. "Do you take me for a coward?"

"Then explain yourself."

"This evening I set out for Phalsbourg: I risk my skin by crossing the enemy's lines, but I like that better than to cross my arms here and perish by famine. I shall either enter the place at the first sortie or endeavour to gain an outpost. The Governor, Meunier, knows me. I have sold him tobacco for the last three years. Like you, he has served in the campaigns of Italy and Egypt. Well, I shall lay the case before him. I shall see Gaspard Lefévre. I will do so much that they will perhaps give us a company. We want nothing but the uniform, do you see, Jean-Claude, and we are saved. All that are left of our brave fellows will join Piorette, and, in any case, we may be relieved. In short, that is my idea; what do you think of it?"

He looked at Hullin, whose fixed and gloomy eye disturbed him.

"Come, is there not a chance?"

"It is an idea," said Jean-Claude at length. "I do not oppose it."

And, in his turn, looking the smuggler straight in the face:

"You swear to me to do your utmost to gain entrance to the place?"

"I swear nothing at all," replied Marc, whose brown cheeks were suffused with a sudden red. "I leave here all that I have: my property, my wife, my comrades, Catherine Lefévre, and yourself—my oldest friend. If I do not return, I shall be a traitor; but, if I do return, Jean-Claude, you shall give me a little explanation of the question you have just put to me: we have a little account to settle together!"

"Marc," said Hullin, "forgive me; I have suffered too much these last few days! I have been wrong; misfortune makes me mistrustful. Give me your hand! Go, save us, save Catherine, save my child! I say this to you now; we have no resource but in you."

Hullin's voice trembled: Divès allowed himself to be moved by it; only he added:

"For all that, Jean-Claude, you should not have spoken so to me at such a moment; let us never speak of it again! I will leave my skin by the way, or else return to deliver you; this very evening at night time, I will set forth! The kaiserlicks are already encircling the mountain; no matter, I have a good horse, and, besides, I've always been lucky."

By six o'clock the loftiest of the mountain tops were wrapped in darkness. Hundreds of fires sparkling at the bottom of the gorges announced that the Germans were preparing their evening meal. Marc Divès descended the footpath on tiptoe. Hullin listened a few seconds longer to the sound of his comrade's footsteps; then he directed his own, in a meditative mood, towards the old tower where the head-quarters had been established. He raised the thick woollen covering which shut in the owl's nest, and saw Catherine, Louise, and the others crouching round a little fire which threw its feeble light upon the grey walls. The old farm-mistress, seated on a block of oak, with her hands clasped round her knees, was watching the flame with fixed eye, compressed lips, and livid complexion; Louise, leaning with her back against the wall, seemed absorbed in a dream; Jerôme, standing behind Catherine, with his hands crossed upon his stick, touched with his thick otter-skin cap the rotten roof. All were sad and dispirited. Hexe-Baizel, who was lifting up the lid of a saucepan, and Doctor Lorquin, who was scraping the mortar of the old wall with the point of his sword, alone preserved their wonted aspect.

"Here we are," said the doctor, "come back to the time of the Triboques. These walls are more than two thousand years old. A good quantity of water must have flowed from the heights of the Falkenstein and the Grosmann, by the Sarre to the Rhine, since a fire was lit in this tower."

"Yes," replied Catherine, like one awaking from a dream; "and many others beside us have suffered here cold, hunger, and poverty. Who has known of it? No one. And in a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years, others, perhaps, will come again to seek shelter in this same place. They will find, like us, the cold wall, the damp earth. They will make a little fire. They will look round as we do. And they will say, like us: 'Who has suffered before us here? Why have they suffered? They were then pursued, hunted, as we are, to come and hide themselves in this miserable hole.' And they will think of times past, and none will be able to reply to them!"

Jean-Claude had approached. In a few seconds, the old farm-mistress, raising her head, began to say, as she regarded him:

"Well! We are surrounded—the enemy wants to reduce us by famine!"

"It is true, Catherine," replied Hullin. "I did not expect that. I reckoned on an attack by main force; but the kaiserlicks are not yet quite as far advanced as they think. Divès has just set out for Phalsbourg; he is acquainted with the governor of the place. And if they will send only a few hundred men to our succour——"

"We must not count upon it," interrupted the old woman. "Marc may be taken or killed by the Germans. And then, even suppose that he succeeds in crossing their lines, how will he be able to enter Phalsbourg? You know well that the place is besieged by the Russians!"

Then every one became silent.

Hexe-Baizel soon after brought the soup, and they made a circle round the steaming bowl.

---

CHAPTER XXVI.

Catherine Lefévre went out of the old cavern about seven o'clock in the morning; Louise and Hexe-Baizel were still asleep; but broad daylight, the splendid daylight of the upper regions, was already streaming through every abyss. At the bottom, through the bright azure, were outlined the woods, the valleys, and the rocks as clearly as the mosses and pebbles of a lake beneath its crystal waters. Not a breath disturbed the air; and Catherine, in presence of this spectacle of boundless nature, felt herself calmer, more tranquil than even in sleep.

"What," said she, to herself, "are our petty troubles of a day, our trials and vexations? Why weary Heaven with our murmurs? Why dread the future? All this only lasts but for a second. Our complaints are of no more account than the cry of the grasshopper in autumn: do its cries prevent winter from coming? Must not the times and seasons be accomplished, and all die to be born again? We have been dead before and have returned again; we shall die again, and again return. And the mountains, with their forests, their rocks, and their ruins, will be ever there to say to us: 'Remember! Remember! Thou hast seen me; behold me again; and thou shalt see me again from generation to generation!'"

Thus mused the old woman, and the future no longer made her afraid; thoughts for her were only memories.

And while she was standing there for a few moments, all of a sudden a hum of voices struck upon her ear; she turned, and saw Hullin with the three smugglers, who were conversing gravely together on the other side of the plateau. They had not perceived her, and seemed engaged in a serious discussion.

Old Brenn, standing on the edge of the rock, with the blackened stump of a pipe between his teeth, his cheek wrinkled like an old cabbage-leaf, his round nose, gray moustache, flabby eyelid drooping over his blood-shot eye, and the long sleeves of his gaberdine falling by his side, was looking at the different points which Hullin was showing him on the mountain; and the two others, wrapped in their long gray cloaks, were pacing to and fro, shading their brows with their hands, and seeming absorbed in profound attention.

Catherine drew near, and soon she heard:

"Then you do not believe it will be possible to descend on either side?"

"No, Jean-Claude, there is no way," replied Brenn, "those brigands know the country, every inch of it; all the paths are guarded. See, look at the deer pasture all along that pond; the preventive officers never had a thought of even noticing it; well, the Allies are defending it. And, below there, the passage of the Rothstein, a regular goat-walk, which you never pass above once in ten years—you can see the glitter of a bayonet behind the rock, can you not? And that other here, where I have carried on my little game for eight years without ever meeting a gendarme—they are holding that too. The very devil himself must have shown them the defiles."

"Yes!" exclaimed the tall Toubac, "and if it is not the devil who has put his foot in it, it must, at least, be Yégof."

"But," replied Hullin, "it seems to me as if three or four firm determined men might carry one of those outposts."

"No, they are supported one by the other; at the first report of a gun, you would have a regiment upon your back," replied Brenn. "Besides, supposing we should have a chance of passing, how should we return with provisions? For my part, this is my opinion: The thing is impossible!"

There was a silence of some moments.

"But still," said Toubac, "if Hullin wishes it, we will try, all the same."

"We will try what?" said Brenn, "to break our backs in trying to escape ourselves, and leave the others in the net. It's all the same to me; if the rest go—I go! But as to saying that we shall return with provisions, I maintain that it's impossible. Let us see, Toubac, by which way would you pass, and by which way would you return? It's no use in this case promising; you must perform. If you know a passage, tell it me. For twenty years I have beaten the mountain with Marc, and I know every road, every path within ten leagues from here, and I do not see any other passage than in heaven!"

Hullin turned round at this moment and saw Dame Lefévre, who was standing a few paces off, and listening attentively.

"What! were you there, Catherine?" said he. "Our affairs are beginning to take a bad turn."

"Yes, I understand: there are no means of renewing our provisions."

"Our provisions," said Brenn, with a strange smile. "Do you know, Dame Lefévre, for how long we have enough?"

"Why, for a fortnight," replied the brave woman.

"We have enough for a week," said the smuggler, emptying the ashes of his pipe upon his nail.

"It is the truth," said Hullin; "Marc Divès and I believed in an attack on the Falkenstein; we never thought the enemy would dream of beleaguering it like a fortified place. We have been mistaken!"

"And what are we going to do?" asked Catherine, turning quite pale.

"We are going to reduce every one's rations to half. If in a fortnight Marc does not arrive, we shall have nothing more—and then we shall see!"

So saying, Hullin, Catherine, and the smugglers, with heads bowed down, took their way back by the gap. They had just set foot on the descent, when at thirty paces above them appeared Materne, who was scrambling, quite out of breath, through the ruins, and clinging to the bushes to get along quicker.

"Well," exclaimed Jean-Claude, "what's going on, old fellow?"

"Ah! there you are—I was looking for you. An officer from the enemy's camp is advancing along the wall of the old burg, with a little white flag; he seems as if he wishes to speak with us."

Hullin, immediately continuing his way towards the declivity of the rock, saw, in effect, a German officer standing on the wall, and who seemed to be waiting till they made a sign to him to ascend. He was within two gun-shots; farther off were stationed five or six soldiers, with grounded arms. After having inspected this group, Jean-Claude turned and said:

"It is an officer, who comes, no doubt, to summon us to surrender the place."

"Let them send a shot at him!" exclaimed Catherine; "it's the best answer we can make him."

All the others appeared of the same opinion, except Hullin, who, without making any observation, descended to the terrace, where the rest of the volunteers were.

"My children," said he, "the enemy sends us an envoy. We do not know what they want of us. I suppose it is a summons to lay down our arms, but it is possible it may be something else. Frantz and Kasper will go to meet him; they will bandage his eyes at the foot of the rock, and lead him here."

No one having any objection to make, the sons of Materne slung their carbines over their shoulders, and withdrew beneath the winding archway. At the end of about ten minutes the two tall red hunters came up to the officer. There was a rapid conference between them, after which they all began to ascend the Falkenstein. As the little group came gradually nearer, they were better able to distinguish the uniform of the envoy, and even his physiognomy. He was a spare man, with rather light hair, a well-formed figure, and resolute movements. At the foot of the rock, Frantz and Kasper bandaged his eyes, and in a short time their footsteps were heard beneath the vault. Jean-Claude going himself to meet them, untied the handkerchief, saying:

"You desire to communicate something to me, sir; I am ready to listen to you."

Tho mountaineers were about fifteen paces from this group. Catherine Lefévre, who was the foremost, was knitting her brows. Her bony figure, her long and hooked nose, the three or four locks of her gray hair straggling over her flat temples, and the bones of her hollow cheeks, the compression of her lips, and the fixity of her look, seemed at first to attract the attention of the German officer; then the gentle and pale face of Louise behind her; then Jerôme, with his long sandy beard, draped in his tunic of coarse cloth; then old Materne, leaning upon his short carbine; then the others; and, finally, the high red vault, the colossal masses of which, built up of flint and granite, hung over the precipice with some withered brambles. Hexe-Baizel, behind Materne, her long besom of green broom in her hand, outstretched neck, and heel on the very edge of the rock, seemed to astonish him for a second.

He himself was the object of marked attention. You recognised in his attitude, in his long face, with its sharp outline and brown skin, in his clear grey eyes, in his slender moustache, in the delicacy of his limbs hardened by the toils of war, the marks of an aristocratic race. He had about him a mixture of the old campaigner and the man of the world—the swordsman and the diplomatist.

This reciprocal inspection terminating in the twinkling of an eye, the envoy said, in good French—

"Is it to Commander Hullin that I have the honour to address myself?"

"Yes, sir," replied Jean-Claude; and as the other was casting an undecided look around the circle: "Speak out, sir," he exclaimed, "that every one may hear you! When the question is one of honour and country there is no one in France that may not hear what we have to say—the women are as much concerned in the affair as we are. You have propositions to make to me; and, in the first place, on the part of whom?"

"On the part of the General commanding-in-chief. Here is my commission."

"Good! We will hear you, sir."

Then the officer, raising his voice, said in a firm tone:

"Permit me first, Commander, to tell you that you have magnificently fulfilled your duty. You have compelled the esteem of your enemies."

"In the matter of duty," replied Hullin, "there is neither more nor less; we have done our best."

"Yes," added Catherine, drily; "and since our enemies esteem us on account of that, well, they will esteem us still more in a week or a fortnight—for we are not at the end of the strife. We shall see some more of it."

The officer turned his head, and stood like one stupefied at the savage energy imprinted in the looks of the old woman.

"These are noble sentiments," he replied, after a moment's silence; "but humanity has its rights, and to shed blood wantonly is to render evil for evil."

"Then, why do you come into our country?" cried Catherine, in her sharp eagle's voice. "Quit it, and we will leave you in peace!" Then she added: "You make war like robbers; you steal, you plunder, you burn! You deserve all to be hung. You ought to be thrown from that rock as an example!"

The officer turned pale, for the old woman appeared to him quite capable of executing her threat; he, however, recovered himself almost immediately, and replied, in a calm tone:

"I know that the Cossacks have set fire to the farm which is to be seen opposite this rock—they are ruffians, such as are to be found in the train of every army—but this solitary act proves nothing against the discipline of our troops. Your French soldiers did many such things in Germany, and particularly in the Tyrol; not content with plundering and setting fire to the villages, they mercilessly shot down every mountaineer suspected of having taken up arms in defence of his country. We might make reprisals; it would only be our right, but we are not savages; we can appreciate all that is great and noble in patriotism, even in its most unfortunate inspirations. Moreover, it is not against the French people that we are making war; it is against the Emperor Napoleon. Besides, the General, on hearing of the conduct of the Cossacks, has publicly denounced this act of vandalism, and, in addition, has decided that an indemnity should be granted to the proprietor of the farm."

"I want nothing from you," sharply interrupted Catherine; "I prefer to be left with my injustice—and to avenge myself!"

The envoy saw by the old woman's tone that he could not make her listen to reason, and that it was even dangerous to make her a reply. So he turned towards Hullin, and said:

"I am commissioned, Commander, to offer you the honours of war, if you surrender this position. You have no provisions—we know it. In a few days, at latest, you will be compelled to lay down your arms. The esteem the General-in-Chief feels for you has alone decided him to propose to you these honourable conditions. A longer resistance would lead to no good. We are masters of the Donon; the body of our army has passed into Lorraine; it is not here the campaign will be decided—you have, therefore, no interest in defending a useless position. We wish to spare you the horrors of famine upon this rock. Come, Commander, decide!"

Hullin turned to his followers, and said to them simply: "You have heard? For my part, I refuse but I will submit if every one else accepts the proposition of the enemy?"

"We all refuse!" said Jerôme.

"Yes—yes, all!" repeated the others.

Catherine Lefévre, hitherto inflexible, happening to look at Louise, seemed touched; she took her by the arm, and turning to the envoy, she said:

"We have a child with us; would there be no means of sending her to one of our relations at Saverne?"

No sooner had Louise heard these words, than throwing herself into Hullin's arms, with a sort of terror, she exclaimed:

"No—no! I will stay with you, Papa Jean-Claude. I will die with you!"

"'Tis well, sir," said Hullin, quite pale; "go tell your General what you have seen; tell him that the Falkenstein will remain with us till death! Kasper, Frantz, lead back the envoy."

The officer seemed to hesitate; but as he was opening his mouth to speak, Catherine, quite livid with rage, exclaimed:

"Go—go! You are not yet where you think. It is that brigand of a Yégof who has told you that we had no provisions, but we have enough for two months; and in two months our army will have exterminated you all. The traitors will not always have it their own way. Woe be to you!"

And, as she was getting more and more excited, the officer judged it prudent to retire. He turned towards his guides, who replaced the bandage, and conducted him to the foot of the Falkenstein.

That which Hullin had ordered on the subject of the provisions was executed on that very day; each one received his half-ration for the day. A sentinel was placed before the cavern of Hexe-Baizel, where the provisions were kept; the entrance was barricaded, and Jean-Claude decided that the distributions should be made in the presence of all, in order to prevent injustice. But all these precautions could not preserve these unfortunate creatures from the horrors of famine.

For three days provisions had completely failed at the Falkenstein, and Divès had not given signs of life. How many times, during these long days of agony, had the mountaineers turned their eyes towards Phalsbourg! how many times had they listened, thinking they heard the steps of the smuggler, whilst the vague murmur of the air alone filled space!

It was amid the tortures of hunger that the whole of the nineteenth day since the arrival of the confederates at the Falkenstein was passed. They spoke no more; crouched on the ground, with pinched faces, they remained lost in an endless reverie. At times they looked at each other with flashing eye, as if ready to devour each other; then they grew calm and gloomy again.

When Yégof's raven, flying from peak to peak, was seen approaching this scene of misfortune, old Materne shouldered his carbine; but immediately the bird of ill-omen would take flight at its utmost speed, uttering dismal croakings; and the arm of the old hunter fell powerless.

---

CHAPTER XXVII.

As if the exhaustion of hunger had not sufficed to fill up the measure of the misery they were enduring, the unhappy mountaineers, keeping their dreary vigils on the Falkenstein, only opened their mouths to threaten and accuse each other.

"Don't touch me!" screamed Hexe-Baizel, in a voice like a polecat's, to those who looked at her, "don't touch me, or I will bite you!"

Louise grew delirious; her large blue eyes, in place of real objects, saw only shadows flitting over the plateau, skimming over the tops of the trees, and plant themselves on the old tower.

"Here are provisions!" she would exclaim.

Then the others would be furious against the poor child, crying out angrily that she wanted to make game of them, and that she had best beware.

Jerôme alone still remained perfectly calm; but the great quantity of snow which he had drunk to appease the inward anguish that was consuming him, bathed all his body and his face with a cold sweat.

Doctor Lorquin had tied a handkerchief round his loins, and tightened it more and more, declaring that he thus satisfied his stomach. He was seated against the tower, with his eyes shut; from hour to hour he opened them, saying:

"We are at the first—at the second—at the third period. One day more, and all will be over!"

He would then begin a dissertation upon the Druids, on Odin, Brahma, Pythagoras, making Latin and Greek quotations, announcing the approaching transformation of the people of Harberg into wolves, into foxes, into animals of all sorts.

"For my part," he would exclaim, "I shall be a lion! I will eat fifteen pounds of beef a-day!"

Then, recovering himself:

"No, I will be a man; I will preach peace, fraternity, justice! Ah! my friends," he would say, "we suffer by our own fault. What have we done, on the other side of the Rhine, for the last ten years? By what right did we want to impose masters on those peoples? Why did we not exchange our ideas, our sentiments, the products of our arts and of our industry, with them? Why did we not go to seek them as brothers, instead of wishing to subjugate them? We should have been well received. What must they have suffered—the unfortunates—during those ten years of violence and rapine? Now they avenge themselves; and it is justice! May the curse of Heaven alight on the wretches who divide the peoples to oppress them!"

After these moments of excitement, he would sink fainting against the wall of the tower, murmuring:

"Bread. Oh, for nothing but a morsel of bread!"

The sons of Materne, crouching among the bushes, gun on shoulder, seemed to be awaiting the passage of game which never arrived; the idea of perpetual ambush sustained their expiring strength.

Some, bent double, were shivering, and felt consumed by fever; they accused Jean-Claude of having led them to the Falkenstein.

Hullin, with superhuman strength of character, still went and came, observing what was passing in the surrounding valleys, without saying anything.

At times he advanced to the very edge of the rock, and with his large compressed jaws, and flashing eye, watched Yégof sitting before a large fire, on the plateau of the Bois-des-Chênes, in the midst of a troop of Cossacks. Since the arrival of the Germans in the valley of the Charmes, the fool had not quitted this post; he seemed, from there, to gloat over the agony of his victims.

Such was the aspect of these unfortunates under the vast canopy of heaven.

The punishment of hunger at the bottom of a dungeon is frightful, no doubt, but beneath a sky bathed in light, in the eyes of a whole country, in face of the resources of nature, it passes all expression.

Now at the close of this nineteenth day, between four and five o'clock in the evening, the weather had lowered: large grey clouds rose behind the snowy summit of the Grosmann; the sun, red as a bullet just out of the furnace, was casting his last rays athwart the murky sky. The silence on the rock was profound. Louise gave no more sign of life. Kasper and Frantz continued motionless among the shrubs like stones. Catherine Lefévre, crouching on the ground, her sharp knees between her skinny arms, her rigid and hard features, her hair hanging over her livid cheeks, with haggard eye, and chin as sharp as a vice, resembled some old sibyl sitting in the midst of the bushes. She spoke no more. That evening, Hullin, Jerôme, old Materne, and Doctor Lorquin had assembled round the old farm-mistress to die together. They were all silent, and the last faint rays of twilight illumined the dismal group. To the right, behind a jutting point of the rock, some fires of the Germans glimmered in the abyss. And as they sat there, all at once the old woman, coming out of her long reverie, murmured at first some unintelligible words.

"Divès is here!" said she at length, in a low voice. "I see him; he is leaving the postern, to the right of the arsenal. Gaspard follows him, and——"

Then she counted slowly:

"Two hundred and fifty men," said she; "national guards and soldiers. They cross the bridge; they mount behind the half-moon. Gaspard is speaking with Marc. What is he saying?"

She appeared to listen:

"'Let us make haste;' yes, make haste; time presses; there they are upon the glacis!"

There was a moment's silence. Then all at once the old woman, drawing herself up to her full height, her arms tossed wildly aloft, hair erect, and mouth quite wide open, shouted, in a terrible voice:

"Courage! kill! kill! ah! ah!"

And she fell heavily back.

This fearful cry awakened everybody; it would have awakened the dead. All the besieged seemed to be born again. Something was in the air. Was it hope, life, soul? I know not; but all came hurrying along like a troop of deer, holding their breath to hear. Louise herself moved softly and raised her head. Frantz and Kasper dragged themselves along upon their knees; and, strange to say, Hullin, casting his eyes through the darkness in the direction of Phalsbourg, thought he saw the fire and smoke of a volley of musketry announcing a sortie.

Catherine had resumed her former attitude; but her cheeks, just now as lifeless as a plaster mask, shook violently; her eye was again covered with a dreamy film. All the others listened; it might have been said that their existence hung upon her lips. Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed, when the old woman slowly continued:

"They have crossed the enemy's lines. They are hastening to Lutzelbourg. I see them. Gaspard and Divès are in front, with Desmarets, Ulrich, Weber, and our friends from the city. They come! They come!"

She was silent anew; a long while yet she listened; but the vision was gone. Seconds succeeded to seconds, slow as centuries, when suddenly Hexe-Baizel began to say, in a sharp voice:

"She is mad! she has seen nothing. Marc, I know him. He is laughing finely at us. What is it to him if we perish? Provided he has his bottle of wine and chitterlings, and can smoke his pipe quietly in the chimney-corner, it's all the same to him. Ah! the wretch!"

Then all relapsed into silence, and the unfortunates, a moment revived by the hope of a near deliverance, fell back again into despair.

"It is a dream," thought they; "Hexe-Baizel is right; we are condemned to die of hunger."

In the meantime, night was come. When the moon rose behind the tall fir-trees, casting her pale rays on the sorrowful groups of the besieged, Hullin only was still watching, though burnt up with fever. He heard far, very far off in the gorges the voices of the German sentinels calling out "Wer dà! Wer dà!" the camp patrols going their rounds through the woods, the shrill neighing of the horses at picket, their stamping, and the shouts of their keepers. Towards midnight the brave man ended, however, by going to sleep like the rest. When he awoke, the village clock of Charmes was striking four. Hullin, at the sound of its distant vibrations, aroused himself from his stupor; he opened his eyelids, and as he was looking round, in a sort of bewildered manner, striving to recover his faculties, the dim light of a torch passed before his eyes; a fear came over him, and he said to himself:—"Am I going mad? The night is quite dark, and yet I see torches."

And yet the flame re-appeared; he regarded it more closely, then rose abruptly, pressing for a few seconds his hand against his contracted face. Then, hazarding another look, he saw distinctly a fire on the Giromani, on the other side of the Blanru; a fire which swept the heavens with its purple wing, and flickered among the shadows of the fir-trees on the snow. And, recollecting that this signal had been agreed on between himself and Piorette to announce an attack, he began to tremble from head to foot; cold drops of sweat stood on his face, and walking on tiptoe through the darkness, like a blind man, with outstretched hands, he stammered:

"Catherine! Louise! Jerôme!"

But no one replied to him, and after having groped about in this way, thinking he was walking, while in reality he was not taking a single step, the unhappy man fell back, exclaiming:

"My children! Catherine! They come! We are saved!"

Immediately there was heard a vague murmur; it seemed as if the dead were re-awakening. There was a burst of dry laughter; it was Hexe-Baizel, gone mad from suffering. Then Catherine exclaimed:

"Hullin! Hullin! Who spoke?"

Jean-Claude, recovered from his emotion, exclaimed, in a firmer tone:

"Jerôme, Catherine, Materne, and you all, are you dead? Do you not see that fire down there, on the side of the Blanru? It is Piorette, who is coming to our assistance."

And, at the very same moment, a loud explosion rolled through the gorges of the Jægerthâl with the sound of a tempest. The trumpet of the last judgment would not have produced more effect on the besieged; they suddenly awoke.

"It is Piorette! It is Marc!" was screeched by voices, broken, dry—voices of mere skeletons; "they come to save us!"

And all these poor wretches strove to rise; some sobbed; but they had no more tears. A second explosion brought them to their feet.

"Surely that is platoon firing," exclaimed Hullin; "our people fire also in platoons; we have soldiers of the line; hurrah for France!"

"Yes," replied Jerôme, "Dame Catherine was right; the Phalsbourgians are coming to our relief; they are descending the hills of the Sarre, and there is Piorette, now heading the attack on the Blanru."

In effect, the firing began to resound from both sides at once, towards the plateau of the Bois-des-Chênes and the towering heights of the Kilbéri.

Then the two leaders embraced each other; and as they walked on tiptoe through the thick darkness, trying to gain the edge of the rock, all of a sudden Materne's voice was heard, loudly exclaiming:

"Take care, my lads, the precipice is there!"

They stopped, looking down at their feet; but there was nothing to be seen; a gust of cold air coming up from the abyss alone warned you of the danger. All the mountain tops and the surrounding gorges were plunged in thick darkness. On the sides of the mountain opposite, the lights from the firing flashed like lightnings, illuminating now an old oak, the dark outline of a rock, now a cluster of furze bushes, and groups of men going and coming as in the midst of a fire. Two thousand feet below, in the depth of the gorges, were heard heavy sounds, the gallop of horses, confused clamours mingling with the word of command. At times the cry of the mountaineer hailing, that prolonged cry, echoing from one mountain top to the other, "He! oh! he!" rose to the topmost height of the Falkenstein like a sigh.

"It is Marc," said Hullin; "it is the voice of Marc."

"Yes, it is Marc who is bidding us keep up our courage," replied Jerôme.

All the others, crouching round them, with outstretched neck, and hands grasping the edge of the rock, strained their eyes to see. The firing continued with a vivacity which betrayed the fierceness of the battle, but it was impossible to see anything. Oh, what would they have given to take part in this supreme conflict, the unfortunates! With what ardour would they have thrown themselves into the fray! The dread of being again abandoned, of seeing at daylight their defenders in retreat, rendered them dumb with fear.

Meanwhile, day was beginning to dawn; the first pale glimmer of light was breaking over the dark tops of the mountains; some rays descended into the shadowy valleys; half-an-hour after they silvered the misty vapours of the abyss. Hullin, casting a look through these breaks in the clouds, was able at length to recognise the position. The Germans had lost the heights of the Valtin and the plateau of Bois-des-Chênes. They were now massed in the valley of Charmes, at the foot of the Falkenstein, a third part of the way up the side, to be out of the reach of their adversaries' fire. Opposite the rock, Piorette, master of Bois-des-Chênes, was ordering barricades to be thrown up on the side of Charmes. He was going hither and thither, the end of his pipe between his lips, his felt hat cocked on his ear, his carbine slung over his shoulder. The blue axes of the woodcutters glittered in the morning sun. To the left of the village, on the side of the Valtin, in the middle of the brushwood, Marc Divès, on a little black horse, with a long flowing tail, his long sword in his hand, was pointing to the ruins and the schlitte road. An officer of infantry, and some national guards in blue coats, were listening to him. Gaspard Lefévre, alone, in advance of this group, leaning on his gun, seemed thoughtful. It might be seen from his attitude that he was forming desperate resolutions for the moment of attack. In fine, quite on the summit of the hill, against the wood, two or three hundred men, ranged in line, with grounded arms, stood watching also.

The sight of this small number of defenders wrung the hearts of the besieged; so much the more that the Germans, seven or eight times superior in numbers, were beginning to form two columns of attack to regain the positions they had lost. Their general was sending horsemen in all directions carrying orders. Rows of bayonets were beginning to defile.

"It's all over!" said Hullin to Jerôme. "What can five or six hundred men do against four thousand in line of battle? The Phalsbourgians will return home, and say, 'We have done our duty!' And Piorette will be crushed."

All the others thought the same; but that which raised their despair to its height was to see all at once a long file of Cossacks debouch in the valley of Charmes at full gallop, and the fool Yégof at their head, galloping like the wind; his beard, the tail of his horse, his sheepskin, and his red hair all streaming in the wind. He looked at the rock, and brandished his lance above his head. At the bottom of the valley, he spurred straight up to where the major-general of the enemy's army stood. Arrived near him, he made some gestures indicating the other side of the plateau of Bois-des-Chênes.

"Ah! the wretch!" exclaimed Hullin. "See! he is telling him that Piorette has no barricades on that side of the mountain, and that it must be taken in the rear."

In effect a column immediately set itself on march in that direction, whilst another directed its movement towards the barricades to mask that of the first.

"Materne!" exclaimed Jean-Claude, "are there no means of sending a bullet after the fool?"

The old hunter shook his head. "No," said he, "it is impossible; he is out of reach."

At this moment, Catherine gave vent to a savage cry—a hawk's cry. "Let us crush them!—let us crush them as we did at the Blutfeld!"

And this old woman, a moment before so weak, rose and flung herself upon a mass of rock, which she lifted with her two hands; then, with her long scanty gray locks, her hooked nose drawn down to her compressed lips, lank cheeks, and bent back, she advanced with a firm step to the very edge of the abyss, and the rock cleft the air, tracing an immense curve.

A horrible noise was heard below. Splinters of fir-trees flew about in all directions, then an enormous stone was seen to rebound at a hundred paces with fresh impetus, roll down the steep descent, and, with a final bound, fall upon Yégof, and crush him at the very feet of the general of the enemy's forces. All this was accomplished in a few seconds.

Catherine, standing on the edge of the rock, laughed a laugh that sounded more like a rattle, and that seemed as if it would never come to an end.

And all the others, all those phantoms, as if inspired with a new life, threw themselves upon the crumbling ruins of the old burg, exclaiming—"Death! death! Let us crush them as at the Blutfeld!"

Never was a more horrible scene beheld. Those beings, at the very gates of the tomb, lean and squalid as skeletons, found fresh strength for carnage. They stumbled no more; they tottered no more. They lifted each one his stone, and ran to hurl it down the precipice; then returned to take another, without even looking at what was passing below.

Now figure to yourselves the stupor of the kaiserlicks at this deluge of ruins and rocks. They had all turned round at the first sound of the stones crashing down one after another over the shrubs and the clumps of trees, and at first they remained as if petrified; but raising their eyes still higher, and seeing other stones descending and descending still, and, above all that, spectres running hither and thither, lifting up their arms, emptying them, and beginning again; seeing their comrades crushed—rows of fifteen and twenty men overthrown at a single blow—an immense cry resounded from the valley of the Charmes, as far as the Falkenstein, and in spite of the voice of the leaders, in spite of the firing, which recommenced right and left, all the Germans fled in disorder to escape this horrible death.

When the rout was at its height, the general of the enemy's army had, however, succeeded in rallying a battalion, and effecting a quiet retreat towards the village. There was something in this man, calm in the midst of disaster, grand and dignified. From time to time he turned round to cast a gloomy look at the falling masses of rock which were making bloody gaps in his column.

Jean-Claude observed him; and in spite of the intoxication of triumph, in spite of the certainty of having escaped famine, the old soldier could not restrain a feeling of admiration.

"Look," said he to Jerôme, "he does as we did on returning from the Donon and the Grosmann: he remains to the last, and only yields step by step. Truly there are men of courage in every country."

Marc Divès and Piorette, witnesses of this stroke of fortune, came down through the fir-trees to endeavour to cut off the retreat of the enemy's general, but they could not succeed in their attempt. The battalion, reduced to half, formed a square behind the village of Charmes, and slowly re-ascended the valley of the Sarre, at times stopping, like a wounded wild boar who turns upon the pack, when the men of Piorette and those of Phalsbourg tried to press it too closely.

Thus ended the great battle of Falkenstein, known in the mountain under the name of the Battle of the Rocks.

---

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The battle was hardly over, about eight o'clock, when Marc Divès, Gaspard, and about thirty mountaineers, with panniers of provisions, ascended the Falkenstein. What a spectacle awaited them up there! All the besieged, stretched on the ground, seemed dead. It was in vain to shake them, to shout in their ears, "Jean-Claude! Catherine! Jerôme!"—they answered not. Gaspard Lefévre, seeing his mother and Louise motionless and with clenched teeth, told Marc that if they did not recover he would blow out his brains with his gun. Marc replied that every one was free to do as he pleased, but that, for his part, he should not blow out his brains for Hexe-Baizel. At length, old Colon having deposited his pannier on a stone, Kasper Materne suddenly sniffed its contents, opened his eyes, and, seeing the provisions, began to clash his teeth like a fox on the chase.

Then they understood what was the meaning of that; and Marc Divès, going from one to the other, simply held his flask under their noses, which sufficed to bring them round. They wanted to swallow all at once; but Doctor Lorquin, in spite of his delirium, had still the good sense to warn Marc not to listen to them, and that the least over-feeding would kill them. So, for this reason, each one received nothing but a little bread, an egg, and a glass of wine, which singularly revived their moral courage. They then placed Catherine, Louise, and the others upon schlittes, and re-descended to the village.

As to painting now the enthusiasm and emotion of their friends when they saw them return, leaner than Lazarus rising from the grave, it is a thing impossible. They looked at each other, embraced; and at each fresh comer from Abreschwiller, from Dagsburg, from St. Quirin, or elsewhere, it was all gone over again.

Marc Divès was obliged to relate more than twenty times the story of his journey to Phalsbourg. The brave smuggler had not been much favoured by fortune. After having escaped by miracle from the bullets of the kaiserlicks, he had fallen, in the valley of Spartzprod, into the midst of a troop of Cossacks, who had stripped him of everything. He had been compelled to wander afterwards during two weeks round the Russian posts that encircled the town, braving the fire of the sentinels and risking twenty times to be arrested as a spy, before being able to penetrate into the place. To crown all, the governor, Meunier, alleging the weakness of the garrison, had at first refused all assistance; and it was only at the pressing solicitation of the citizens of the town that he at length consented to detach two companies.

The mountaineers, listening to this recital, admired the courage of Marc, his perseverance in the midst of dangers.

"Oh!" the big smuggler would good-humouredly reply to those who congratulated him, "I have only done my duty. Could I leave my comrades to perish? I knew well it was no easy matter. Those dogs of Cossacks are more cunning than Custom-house officers; they will scent you out like ravens. But no matter; we have outwitted them all the same."

When five or six days were passed, every one was afoot. Captain Vidal, of Phalsbourg, had left twenty-five men at the Falkenstein to guard the ammunition. Gaspard Lefévre was of the number. The young fellow came down every morning to the village. The Allies had all passed into Lorraine; no more was seen of them in Alsace, except round the strong places.

Soon news was brought of the victories of Champ Aubert and of Montmirail; but times of great misfortune were at hand. The Allies, in spite of the heroism of our army and the genius of the Emperor, entered Paris.

This was a terrible blow for Jean-Claude, Catherine, Materne, Jerôme, and all the mountaineers; but the recital of these events does not enter into our history; others have related them.

Peace made, in the spring they rebuilt the farm of Bois-des-Chênes. The woodcutters, sabôt-makers, masons, bargemen, and all the workmen of the country lent a hand.

About the same period, the army having been disbanded, Gaspard cut off his moustaches, and his marriage with Louise took place.

On that day all the combatants arrived from the Falkenstein and the Donon, and the farm received them with doors and windows wide open. Every one brought his presents to the bride and bridegroom—Jerôme, little shoes for Louise; Materne and his sons, a fine heathcock, the most amorous of birds, as everybody knows; Divès, packets of smuggled tobacco for Gaspard; and Doctor Lorquin, a parcel of fine linen.

There was open table kept even in the barns and outhouses. What was consumed in wine, bread, meat, tarts, and kougelhof, we cannot say; but what we know is, that Jean-Claude, who had been very gloomy and depressed since the entry of the Allies into Paris, brightened himself up on that day by singing the old air of his youth as gaily as when he set off, gun on shoulder, for Valmy, Jemmapes, and Fleurus. The echoes of the Falkenstein opposite repeated from afar this old patriotic song—the grandest, the most noble that man has ever heard under heaven. Catherine Lefévre beat time upon the table with the handle of her knife; and if it is true, as many say, that the dead come to listen when we speak of them, our brave fellows must have been satisfied, and the King of Diamonds have foamed in his red beard.

Towards midnight, Hullin rose, and addressing the newly-married couple, said to them:

"You will have brave children; I will dance them upon my knees; I will teach them my old song; and then I will go and rejoin my forefathers!"

So saying, he embraced Louise, and arm-in-arm with Marc Divès and Jerôme, he went down to his little cottage followed by all the wedding guests, singing in chorus the sublime song.

Never was there seen a more beautiful night; inumerable stars sparkled in the deep blue sky; there was a gentle rustling among the shrubs at the foot of the mountain beneath which so many brave men had been interred. Every one experienced by turns feelings of joy and of regret.

On the threshold of the modest dwelling there was shaking of hands and wishing good-night; and then all, some to the right, others to the left, returned to their villages.

"Good night, Materne, Jerôme, Divès, Piorette, good-night!" exclaimed Jean-Claude.

His old friends returned the salute, waving their hats, and they all said to themselves:

"There are still days when one is very happy to be in the world. Ah! if there were never either plagues, or wars, or famines—if men could agree together, love and help each other—if no unjust quarrels rose between them, the earth would be a real Paradise!"

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792 Chelsea Pensioners. Gleig.
793 A Lease for Lives. A. de Fonblanque.
794 The Backwoodsman. Sir E. Wraxall.
795 Almost a Quixote. Miss Levien.
796 Janetta, and Blythe Herndon.
797 Margaret's Ordeal. E. Juncker.
798 Philiberta. Thorpe Talbot.

LIBRARY EDITION OF THE BEST AUTHORS.

Crown 8vo, neat cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d. each.

1 The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. With Original Illustrations by A.B. Frost.

2 Nicholas Nickleby. By Chas. Dickens. With the Original Illustrations by "Phiz."

3 Virgin Soil. By Ivan Turgenieff.

4 Smoke. By Ivan Turgenieff.

5 Fathers and Sons. By Ivan Turgenieff.

6 Dimitri Roudine. By ditto.

7 Hector O'Halloran. By W.H. Maxwell. Illustrated by Leech.

8 Christopher Tadpole. By Albert Smith. Illustrated.

9 Charles O'Malley. By C. Lever. Plates by Phiz. Half-bd.

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