"Simon!" she cried, "the peasants are coming here from every direction. They say that the foreigners are coming this way, and they bid us fly!"
Simon went to the door. Françoise had spoken the truth. On all the roads and on all the mountain paths crowds were seen of men, women and children.
If the rout of an army is terrible, that of a people is infinitely more so. This flight from home and fireside is sad beyond expression. These peasants were running, carrying on their shoulders all that they held most precious. Their houses had been searched, for these peasants had served in the rising of '92, and they probably had arms. An old man was shot for concealing a pistol. At another place brutes had insulted the women, and burned the cottages deserted by the fugitives. This was the day that Napoleon Bonaparte had replied to the corps legislatif, who supplicated him to return to the people their lost liberty: "France is a man!—I am that man—with my will, my fame, and my power!"
The woodcutters now returned, dragging the huge wagon they had dug out of the snow-drifts. Simon rapidly explained to several peasants the preparations he had made, and under his instructions they hastened to remove the wounded from the wagon. It was a terrible sight—eleven out of the twenty-eight were dead. But in fifteen minutes the living were lying on the fresh straw spread in the school-room, and Simon and his wife were going from one to another of these poor sufferers, alleviating their sufferings as far as possible. Suddenly a great noise was heard without, followed by the most profound silence. Simon started.
"What was that!" he asked, quickly.
The door opened, and Michel appeared.
"The Cossacks!" he cried. "Come, Master Simon, come!"
Simon obeyed, signing to his wife to take his place. He went outside, and beheld some twenty men mounted on thin but vigorous-looking horses. The men were of medium height, bearded like goats and ugly as monkeys. They wore loose robes fastened into the waists with red scarfs. On their heads were high cylindrical caps. Some wore over their shoulders cloaks of bear skins. Their high saddles formed boxes in which they could pack away their booty. They looked down on the crowd with small, twinkling eyes set far in under bushy brows and low foreheads. At their head was an officer in the Austrian uniform.