At daybreak, masses of thick fog were beginning to rise from the valley, the fires were crackling and sparkling in the mist, and people were lying sleeping about in every direction; here lay one, his hands clasped under his head, his face purple with cold, his legs bent under him; there another, with his cheek on his arm, and his back to the blazing fire; the greater part were sitting, their heads hanging down, and guns slung over their shoulders—a still and silent picture, revealed either in a flood of crimson light, or half hidden in the grey tinge of morning, according as the fire burnt high or low. Farther off, in the distance, the profiles of the sentinels were sharply outlined against the pale sky, as they stood resting on their guns, looking down on the cloud-covered abyss below. To the right, at about fifty paces from the last fire, was heard the neighing of horses, and people stamping with their feet to warm themselves, and talking loud.
"Here is Master Jean-Claude," said Kasper, advancing.
One of the men having thrown some splinters of dry wood on to the fire, there was a blaze, and by its light were seen Marc Divès's men on horseback, a dozen strapping fellows wrapped in their long grey cloaks, their broad-brimmed hats pushed back on to their shoulders, their thick moustaches either turned up, or falling down to their very necks, grouped motionless around the baggage waggon; a little farther on was Catherine Lefévre, crouching among the packages in her cart, her feet buried in the straw, her back against a large barrel; behind her was a cauldron, a gridiron, a pig fresh killed, scalded, white and red, some ropes of onions, and heads of cabbages to make soup; all this was revealed for an instant in the shadow, and then fell back again into darkness.
Divès was a little apart from the convoy, and now rode forward on his great horse. "Is that you, Jean-Claude?"
"Yes, Marc."
"I've some thousand cartridges here. Hexe-Baizel works day and night."
"Good! Good!"
"Yes, old boy. And Catherine Lefévre is bringing provisions, too; she killed yesterday. Where shall we put the powder?"
"Down below there; under the cart-shed, behind the farm. Ah! is that you, Catherine?"
"Yes, Jean-Claude. It is pretty cold this morning."