Catherine Lefevre might have been sixty years of age, but her form was straight and erect as at thirty. Her clear, gray eyes and hooked nose seemed to resemble the eyes and beak of the eagle. Her thin cheeks and the drooping corners of her mouth betokened habits of thought, and gave a sad and somewhat bitter expression to her face. A long brown hood covered her head and fell over her shoulders. Her whole appearance bespoke a firm and resolute character, and inspired in the beholder a feeling of respect, not untinged with fear.
"You here, Catherine?" exclaimed Hullin in his surprise.
"Even I, Jean-Claude," replied the old woman calmly. "I wish to speak with you. Is Louise at home?"
"She is at Madeleine Rochart's."
"So much the better," said Catherine, seating herself at the corner of the work-bench.
Hullin gazed fixedly at her. There was something mysterious and unusual in her manner which caused in him a vague feeling of alarm.
"What has happened?" he asked, laying aside his hammer.
"Yegof the fool passed last night at the farm."
"He was here this afternoon," said Hullin, who attached no importance to the fact.
"Yes," continued Catherine, in a low tone; "he passed last night with us, and in the evening, at this hour, before the kitchen fire, his words were fearful."