Old Jules Picard watched the scene with devouring eyes. The lid of his snuff-box snapped incessantly.
“They are Prussians, my child,” he exclaimed; “they are crossing the river to kill those who defend our homes. Some of them will not go back. I count ten—eleven—twelve. Ah, one is up again! And it is at the mill, then. Ma foi, if my eyes were not so old!”
He stood quite still with his excitement for a moment, and then turned eagerly to her.
“It would be a mile from here where we could see it, Madame. A mile nearer to Monsieur, votre mari. He has forbidden it, but you may wish it. Ah, Madame, if you should wish it!”
A strange light filled her eyes. Woman that she was, a desire of battle was already in her heart. She would see Edmond’s victory. She would be nearer to him.
“Where you will,” she said quickly, “if only the day could end—now. If only one could know—”
He led her by the hand from the garden, and they brought her pony to the gate.
“I prescribe knowledge, Madame,” said he. “It is those who wait that suffer.”
Side by side the old man encouraging her, the girl very silent, yet with courage in her heart, they passed through the woods towards that height above the Sauer where the battle-field would reward them. For some way the thickets muffled all sounds to their ears. They met a regiment of the line marching quickly. Here and there in the woods infantry stood waiting; some busy with their rifles, some white with fear, some with prayers upon their lips. Artillery waggons thundered down the road to the valley. Where the woods were riven apart by gully and chasm the vineyards could be seen, green and golden in the sunlight. The roar of battle burst upon them in such moments. It was lost once more when again they entered the glade. And the path carried them upward now. They struck upon a woodland track so narrow that old Picard must follow her at hazard, complaining of his horse. At the end of it the thickets terminated abruptly in a little plateau of grass land. The battle-field of Wörth was before them. They looked down upon it as from a watch-tower of the heights.
The valley spread out below them as a golden river in the heart of the hills intensely green. They could see the town of Wörth, the river winding through it, the great outstanding mount at Froeschweiler. Villages stood up as little white pictures against the background of maize and vines. There were brooks and mills at the foot of the slope before them—but, everywhere along those miles of valley road, the blue tunics and the red breeches of the soldiers of France were visible. Now dashing forward at the charge; now deploying and seeking the shelter of mound and hill; now marching through the villages; those little blue and red figures were as men that moved upon some mighty board. Impossible to believe that they were to slay and be slain; that the destinies of a nation followed the puffs of white smoke and the concatenation of terrible sounds which marked their path. For those upon the heights, distance put a mask upon the face of death. The girl’s heart beat fast, but it was with hope. The eyes of the old man were lighted as the eyes of an animal which hunts its prey.