But in a short time, the old man, recovering himself, exclaimed:
"All the same, this has been a tough day's work, boys. Let us go and have a cup of wine, for I'm thirsty."
Then casting a last look on the gloomy scene, and seeing the sentinels which Hullin, as he went by, had just posted at every thirty paces, they proceeded together towards the old farm.
They were crossing the trench, where the dead lay in heaps, lifting their feet whenever they felt them come in contact with anything soft, when they heard a stifled voice say:
"Is that you, Materne?"
"Ah, my poor old Rochart!—pardon, pardon!" replied the old huntsman, stooping down. "I touched you. What! are you there still?"
"Yes, I cannot move, for I have lost my legs."
They were all three silent for a moment, and then the old wood-cutter resumed:
"Tell my wife that she will find behind the wardrobe my little savings, put away in a stocking. I hoarded it up in case we should either of us fall ill. For me, I have no more need of it."