But Heaven was reserving for them on that day a still greater pleasure and surprise, and especially for Louise and Dame Lefévre. Towards noon, just as a bright ray of the winter's sun was making the snow look whiter than ever and melting the hoar-frost on the window-panes, and the great red cock thrusting his head out of the fowl-house was flapping his wings and making the echoes of the Valtin resound with his shrill cry of triumph, all of a sudden the watch-dog, old Yohan, who was quite toothless, and very nearly blind, began to give vent to a succession of barks at once so joyous and so plaintive, that everyone's attention was attracted.
The great kitchen fire was blazing at its height; the third batch was being drawn from the oven, and yet Catherine Lefévre herself stopped to listen.
"There is something going to happen," said she, in a low tone.
Then she added, in a voice that shook with emotion:
"Since my boy left home, Yohan has never barked like that."
At the same moment rapid steps were heard crossing the court-yard; Louise sprang towards the door, exclaiming, "It is he! it is he!" and almost immediately a trembling hand was at the latch; the door opened, and a soldier appeared at the threshold, but a soldier, so lank, sunburnt, and haggard, his old grey overcoat with pewter buttons so worn out, his long cloth gaiters so torn and discoloured, that all the spectators were speechless with surprise.
He seemed unable to take a step farther, as he firmly put the butt-end of his gun to the ground. The tip of his eagle nose—the exact counterpart of Dame Lefévre's—shone like bronze, his red moustaches quivered; he looked just like one of those lean, hungry hawks driven by famine in winter to the stable doors. He looked straight into the kitchen, and his cheeks seemed to turn pale beneath their tinge of sun-brown, and his hollow eyes filled with tears as he stood there without being able to speak a word or advance a step.
Out of doors the old dog kept leaping, and whining, and rattling his chain as if he would break it; within, not a sound could be heard but the crackling of the fire, so deep was the silence; but very soon the voice of Catherine Lefévre was heard exclaiming, in heartrending tones:—
"Gaspard!—my child! It is you!"
"Yes, mother!" replied the soldier, in a voice choking with emotion.