Not a hand rose.
"Let those who wish Jean-Claude Hullin to be our chief, raise their hands!"
Every hand rose.
"Jean-Claude," said the smuggler, "you are the man. Come hither. Look!"
Jean-Claude mounted the logs, and seeing that he was elected, said calmly:
"You name me your chief. I accept. Let old Materne, Labarbe of Dagsbourg, Jerome of Saint-Quirin, Marc-Dives, Piorette the sawyer, and Catherine Lefevre enter the saw-mill. We will hold a council, and in twenty minutes I will give my orders. In the meantime let every village detail two men to go to Falkenstein with Marc-Dives for powder and ball."
Chapter VIII.
Those whom Hullin named met in the hut attached to the saw-mill around the immense chimney. A sober sort of merriment seemed to play about the face of more than one.
"For twenty years I have heard people talking of these Russians and Austrians and Cossacks," said old Materne, smiling, "and I shall not be sorry to see one at the muzzle of my rifle."
"Yes," answered Labarbe; "we shall see enough of them at last, and the little children of to-day will have many a tale to tell of their fathers and their grandsires. And how the old women of fifty years hence will chatter of it at evening around the winter fire!"