"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!"