'I've got nothing, not even a crust! Do you fellows think we can feed hundreds of thousands of men? Other troops passed by here this morning—General Ducrot's men—and they took everything I had.'
One by one the soldiers were again drawing nearer: 'All the same, just open your door. We'll have a rest. You'll be able to find us a morsel, sure enough.'
They were again hammering on the door, when the old man, after placing the candle on the window-sill, raised his gun to his shoulder: 'As true as that's a candle,' he shouted, 'I'll send a bullet into the head of the first man who touches my door!'
A combat appeared imminent. Curses resounded, and some one shouted that they ought to settle the hash of that swinish peasant, who, like the rest of the litter, would have flung his bread into the water rather than give a bite to a soldier. The chassepots were already levelled, and it seemed certain that he would be shot down, for, in his obstinate rage, he remained standing there, clearly visible in the flaring candle-light.
'Nothing at all,' he resumed, 'not a crust! Everything has been taken from me.'
At this moment Maurice, in dire alarm, sprang forward followed by Jean.
'Comrades, comrades!' he shouted as with a blow of his arm he lowered the guns of the marauders; and then, raising his head, he called to Fouchard in a supplicating tone: 'Come, be reasonable. Don't you know me?'
'Who are you?'
'Your nephew, Maurice Levasseur.'
Fouchard had taken up the candle again, and, doubtless, he recognised Maurice; but he remained obstinate, determined not to give the men even so much as a glass of water. 'Nephew, indeed!' he growled; 'who can tell in that cursed darkness? Begone all of you, or I'll fire!' And amid the shouts that were then raised, the threats that they would pick him off and fire his shanty, he continued bawling the same phrase, repeating it a score of times: 'Begone all of you, or I'll fire!'