At six o'clock in the morning—it was at that hour that Simon died—a pistol shot scattered the straw on the roof of the hut.
Lasvène rushed to the door and half opening it, cried:
"The Cossacks!"
He knew them well, for he had been in the campaign of 1805.
Jacques started to his feet, and Françoise, pale as death, clutched her little girl to her breast.
"They are only going by," said Lasvène. "They know there is nothing to pillage here."
Lasvène believed himself and his guests under his roof to be safe. He, therefore, threw open the door wide.
He saw about fifty Cossacks.
"I am not making any defence," he said, "what do you want?"