"Yes, old fellow. And Catherine Lefèvre brings provisions as well; she killed yesterday."
"All right, Marc: we shall want all that. The battle is impending."
"Yes, yes, I thought so; we came quickly. Where is the powder to be put?"
"There, under the cart-house behind the farm. Ah, is that you, Catherine?"
"Of course, Jean-Claude. It is dreadfully cold this morning!"
"You are always the same. Have you no fear?"
"What! should I be a woman if I were not curious? I must poke my nose everywhere."
"Yes, you always make excuses for the fine and noble things you do."
"Hullin, you are wearisome with your repetitions; let me alone with your compliments. Must not all those people eat? Can they live on air in such weather as this? And is not air fattening on a day so cold—like needles and razors. So I took my measures. Yesterday we slaughtered an ox—poor Schwartz, you know—he weighed a good nine hundred. I have brought his hind-quarters for this morning's soup."
"Catherine, it is in vain I have known you so long," cried Jean-Claude, quite touched; "you are always astonishing me. No sacrifice is too great for you, neither money, care, nor trouble."