"Then do it!" replied Jean-Claude; and in a calmer tone: "Listen, Marc! I am very angry with thee. We were conquerors; and by thy fault the battle has to be fought over again. If thou failest in thy attack, all is lost for us."
"Good! good! The affair is altogether mine: I will answer for it."
Then, springing on his horse, and throwing the end of his mantle over his shoulder, he drew his long blade with a defiant air. His men did the same.
He then turned to the reserve, composed of five hundred mountaineers, and showing the plateau to them with the point of his sword, said, "Look there, my men! we must carry that position. The men of Dagsburg must not say that they are braver than the men of the Sarre. Forward!" And, full of ardor, they advanced, skirting the ravine. Hullin shouted to them—"At the point of your bayonets!"
The big smuggler, on his great sleek roan, turned round, laughing out of the corners of his mustache, and waved his sword in a significant way; then the whole body dashed into the pine-wood.
At the same time the Germans, with their eight-pounders, had gained the plateau, and were putting them in position, while the column from Framont was ascending the hill-side. Thus everything was in the same condition as before the battle,—with this difference, that the enemies' bullets would now come into play and take the mountaineers in the rear.
One could see distinctly the two field-pieces with their cramp-irons, levers, sponges, artillerymen, and the officer commanding, a great lanky fellow, with broad shoulders and fair mustaches floating in the wind. The blue shades of the valley seeming to diminish the distance, they looked as though you might have touched them; but Hullin and Materne were not to be deceived; it was a good six hundred mètres across. No carbine could reach so far. Nevertheless, the old hunter, before returning to the abatis, wished to have his mind set quite at rest. He advanced as close as possible to the ravine, followed by his-son Kasper and a few mountaineers; and, leaning against a tree, he raised his gun deliberately and took aim at the tall officer with the fair mustaches. All those about him held their breath for fear of balking the attempt.
Materne fired, but when he laid down his weapon to see what had occurred, no change had taken place.
"It is astonishing how age weakens the sight," he said.
"Your weakened sight!" cried Kasper. "There is not a man from the Vosges to Switzerland who can boast of hitting his mark at two hundred mètres like you!"