"So, then," said Materne, turning towards the fat man, as if to resume the course of an interrupted conversation, "you think, Father Dubreuil, that we shall have nothing to fear in the Baronies, and that we may quietly continue to hunt the wild boar?"
"Ah! as to that, I can't say anything," exclaimed the innkeeper; "only at present the Allies have not yet passed Mutzig. And, besides, they are doing no harm to any one; they receive every one kindly, and with good will, who will take up arms against the Usurper."
"The Usurper! and who is he?"
"Who? Why, Napoleon Bonaparte is the Usurper, to be sure. Just cast your eyes on that wall opposite."
He pointed to a large paper placard, posted on the wall, close to the clock.
"Look at that, and you will see that the Austrians are our true friends."
Old Materne frowned till his eyebrows met; but immediately repressing any outward sign of emotion, he merely said, "Ah, bah!"
"Yes, just read that."
"But I do not know how to read, M. Dubreuil, nor my boys either. Just explain the thing to us yourself."
Then the old innkeeper, leaning his two great red hands on the arms of his chair, rose, panting and puffing like an ox, and placed himself before the placard, with his arms akimbo, while, with a pompous tone, he read a proclamation from the Allied Sovereigns, declaring that they were making war against Napoleon personally, and not against France; in consequence of which every one was to remain quiet, and not to interfere in the matter, under pain of being burnt, pillaged, and shot.