"He is a fool!" said Hexe-Baizel.
"I think you are not altogether wrong," sneered the smuggler. "Poor Yegof is losing his head entirely. But listen, Baizel; you will begin at once to cast bullets of all calibres; I am off for Switzerland. In a week, at latest, the remainder of our munitions will be here. Give me my boots."
Drawing on the last, and wrapping a thick red woollen scarf about his neck, the smuggler took from a hook on the wall a herdsman's dark-green coat which he threw over his shoulders; then, covering his head with a broad felt hat and seizing a cudgel, he cried:
"Do not forget what I say, old woman, or if you do, beware! Forward, Jean-Claude!"
Hullin followed his host without even bidding Hexe-Baizel farewell, and she, for her part, deigned not to see her departing guest to the door. When they had reached the foot of the cliff, Dives stopped, saying:
"You are going to the mountain villages, are you not, Hullin?"
"Yes; I must give the alarm."
"Do not forget Materne of Hengst and his two sons, and Labarbe of Dagsbourg, and Jerome of Saint-Quirin. Tell them there will be powder and ball in plenty; that Catherine Lefevre and I, Marc-Dives, will see to it."
"Fear not, Marc; I know my men."
They shook hands warmly and parted, the smuggler wending his way to the right toward Donon, Hullin taking the path to the left toward the Sarre.