"Neighbour Wittman," said he, after a moment's pause, "where is my parcel?"
"It is ready, Master Jean-Claude."
Then, looking in at the kitchen door, he called out:—"Grédel, Grédel, bring Master Hullin's parcel!"
A little woman appeared at this summons, and placed on the table a bundle of sheepskins. Jean-Claude passed his stick through the bundle, and put it on his shoulder.
"What, are you going to start directly?"
"Yes, neighbour Wittman; the days are short, and it is bad travelling through the woods after six o'clock. I must get home betimes."
"A safe journey to you, then, Master Jean-Claude."
Hullin went out, and crossed the square, keeping his eyes turned aside from the convoy of wounded and dying, who were still stationed in front of the church.
And the innkeeper, as he watched him from his window setting off at a good round pace, said to himself—