Seeing Herr Schmelze standing in the doorway, the old man went in.
"Good-day," called the cousin. "Himmel, Hans, but the firing is awful!"
Certainly the roar, always steady and loud, seemed to increase to a noise like thunder. Towards Jena they saw a cloud of blue smoke rising always thicker and higher. The air, usually so fresh with the breath of the pines, choked their throats with its taste of powder. The din was awful, shrieks, shots, and the cannon roar uniting. Before Hans could even answer, the flying feet of the first fugitives were heard on the road, men and frightened women, furniture on their backs, children in their arms, hands holding what they could; on they came as if fiends were at their heels, a great horror pursuing them.
The cousin's wife, seeing Hans, came out to greet him. Her fingers were held fast to her ears and she kept crying on God to help them.
"Be quiet, Lotte," commanded her husband, "and bring Hans some breakfast."
She ran back into the house, and Herr Schmelze led the way to a rustic table beneath an elm.
"It is cold," said he, shivering at the dampness, "but out here it is better, is it not? We can see all that is happening."
Frau Schmelze returned with black bread, sausage, hard-boiled eggs, and beer.
Arranging them on the table, she bowed her head most piously.
"Bless the mealtime," she said, jumping an "Amen" as the cannon thundered a sudden volley.