"Shot?"
"Not a doubt of it. We are not regular troops; they do not take us prisoners, they shoot us. So you will proceed on your way to Schirmeck, with a stick in your hand, and your sons will accompany you and keep at a distance under shelter of the hedges, and within gun-shot. If any marauders attack you, they will come to your assistance, but if it is a column or a squadron, they will let you be taken."
"They will let me be taken!" indignantly exclaimed the old huntsman; "I should like to see that."
"Yes, Materne; and it will be the best way, for an unarmed man they will let go; an armed man they will shoot."
"Ah! I see, I see. Yes, yes, that's not a bad thought; I never thought to part from my carbine, Jean-Claude, but in war time we must obey orders; there, there is my gun, and my flask, and my knife. Who will lend me his blouse and stick?"
Nickel Bentz handed him his blue smock-frock and felt hat.
When they had changed clothes, any one might have taken the old huntsman, in spite of his thick, gray moustaches, for a simple peasant of the mountains.
His two boys, quite proud of belonging to this first expedition, examined the priming of their carbines, each with its bayonet used for hunting the wild boar straight and long as a sword. They felt the edge of their hunting-knives, threw their game-bags across their shoulders, and assured themselves that everything was in good order, casting flashing looks around them.
"Ha, ha!" said Doctor Lorquin, with a smile, "don't forget the advice of Master Jean-Claude. Prudence! A German more or less among a hundred thousand would not make much difference, whilst if either of you came back to us out of marching order, we should find it difficult to replace you."
"Oh! fear nothing, doctor; we shall keep our eyes open."