It was about half-past seven when the sound of footsteps was heard in the court-yard. The mastiff went growling towards the door. He listened, sniffed the night air, and then quietly returned to his place by the fire.
"It is some one belonging to the farm," said Annette. "Michel does not stir."
Directly after, old Duchêne was heard outside, saying, "Good night, Master Jean-Claude. Is it you?"
"Yes; I have just arrived from Phalsbourg, and I have come to rest for a moment before going down to the village. Is Catherine in?"
And as he spoke, the honest man appeared in the bright firelight, standing at the door, his broad-brimmed hat pushed back on to the nape of his neck, and his bundle of sheepskins on his shoulder.
"Good night, my children," said he; "good night; always at work?"
"Yes, Master Hullin, as you see," replied Jeanne, with a smile. "If one had nothing to do, life would be very tedious."
"True, my pretty girl, true; there is nothing like work to give you those fresh cheeks and large bright eyes."
Jeanne was going to reply when the inner door opened, and Catherine Lefévre entered, casting a searching look at Hullin as if to guess beforehand the news he brought.