Hullin had established his head-quarters in the large room on the ground floor, to the right of the barn, facing Framont; on the other side was the temporary hospital for the sick and wounded; the part overhead was inhabited by the people belonging to the farm.
Although the night was very calm, and innumerable stars twinkled in the clear sky, the cold was so intense that the ice was nearly an inch thick on the window panes.
Out of doors was heard the challenge of the sentinels going their rounds, and on the neighbouring mountain-tops the howlings of the wolves, who had followed our armies by hundreds since 1812. These carnivorous animals, crouching in the snow, their sharp muzzles between their paws, and hunger gnawing their vitals, called to each other from the Grosmann to the Donon with plaintive moans resembling those of the keen north wind.
Then more than one mountaineer felt himself turn pale.
"It is death that sings," thought they; "it scents the battle, and calls to us!"
The oxen lowed in the stable, and the horses stamped and plunged furiously. About thirty fires were burning around; the Anabaptist's wood-house was ravaged; log was heaped upon log, they roasted their faces, while they shivered at the back; they warmed their backs, and icicles hung from their moustaches.
Hullin alone, sitting at the large deal table, thought of everything. After the latest reports of the evening, announcing the arrival of the Cossacks at Framont, he was convinced that the first attack would take place on the morrow. He had distributed the cartridges, he had doubled the sentinels, ordered the patrols, and allotted all the posts the whole length of the defences. Every one knew beforehand the place he was to occupy. Hullin had also sent word to Piorette, to Jerôme of Saint-Quirin, and to Labarbe to despatch to him their best marksmen.
The little dark passage, lit only by a solitary lantern, was full of snow, and every moment by its dull light were seen passing the leaders of the ambuscade, their hats pulled down to their ears, the large sleeves of their riding coats drawn down to their wrists, with gloomy looks, and their beards stiff with the frost.
Pluto no longer growled at the heavy footsteps of these men. Hullin, plunged in thought, sat with his head between his hands, his elbows on the table, listening to all the reports: