"What, Cousin Nanette! Why, where is she, then?"
"Down below there, near the great oak, by Uncle Hans's fire."
There were hearty hand-shakings everywhere. Some were giving vent to long and loud yawns, while others again were engaged in throwing sticks and logs of wood on the fire. Some were handing flasks about to each other, while others were drawing back from the circle round the fire to make room for their neighbours, who were shivering with the cold. But in spite of these various means of passing the time, signs of impatience began to show themselves among the crowd.
"But, I say," exclaimed one, "we didn't come here to warm the soles of our feet, did we? It's time to look about, to understand each other."
"Yes, yes," was the general response; "let us come to an understanding; let us appoint our leaders."
"No! everyone is not here yet. Look; there are some from Dagsburg and St. Quirin arriving now."
In fact, as the day grew lighter, it served to show more and more people arriving by all the different paths of the mountain. There were then already several hundred men in the valley: woodcutters, charcoal burners, watermen, without reckoning the women and children.
Nothing more picturesque can be imagined than this halt in the midst of the snow, in the deep defiles, surrounded by tall pines towering to the skies; to the right, valleys linked with each other, stretching away far out of sight; to the left, the cloud-capp'd ruins of Falkenstein. At a distance, they might have been taken for large flocks of cranes herding together for comfort, 'mid the snow and ice; but, on a nearer view, you could then behold these rough men, with beards bristling like the skin of the wild boar, stern eyes, broad square shoulders, and horny hands. Some among them, taller than the rest, belonged to that fiery red race with white skins, hairy to the very finger-ends, and strong enough to uproot oaks. Of this number were Materne of Hengst, and his two sons Frantz and Kasper. These stalwart fellows, all three armed with long carbines, from Inspruck, wearing long gaiters of blue cloth, with leather buttons, reaching high above the knee, a sort of tunic made of goat-skin, and their hats pushed to the very back of the head, had not even deigned to approach the fire. For the last hour they had been sitting together on the trunk of a felled tree by the river's edge, with watchful eye and keen scent, like hunters lying in ambush, with their feet on the snow.
From time to time the old man would say to his sons: "What are they shivering about, down there? I never knew a milder night for the season. It's like a spring night; the rivers are not even touched by the frost!"