"Do you mean that you believe this nonsense of Yegof?"
"Yes, I believe it."
"You believe it! You, Catherine Lefevre! If it was Mother Rochart, I would say nothing; but you—!"
He arose as if angry, untied his apron, shrugged his shoulders, and then suddenly, again seating himself, exclaimed:
"Do you know who this fool is? I will tell you. He is one of those German schoolmasters who turn old women's heads with their Mother Goose stories; whose brains are cracked with overmuch study, and who take their visions for actual events—their crazy fancies for reality. I always looked upon Yegof as one of them. Remember the mass of names he knows; he talks of Brittany and Austrasia—of Polynesia and Nideck and the banks of the Rhine, and so gives an air of probability to his vagaries. In ordinary times, Catherine, you would think as I do; but your mind is troubled at receiving no news from Gaspard, and the rumors of war and invasion which are flying around distract you; you do not sleep, and you look upon the sickly fancies of a poor fool as gospel truth."
"Not so, Hullin—not so. If you yourself had heard Yegof—"
"Come, come!" cried the good man. "If I had heard him, I would have laughed at him, as I do now. Do you know that he has demanded the hand of Louise, that he might make her Queen of Austrasia?"
Catherine could not help smiling; but soon resuming her serious air, she said:
"All your reasons, Jean-Claude, cannot convince me; but I confess that Gaspard's silence frightens me. I know my boy, and he has certainly written. Why have his letters not arrived? The war goes ill for us, Hullin; all the world is against us. They want none of our Revolution. While we were the masters, while we crowned victory with victory, they were humble enough, but since the Russian misfortune their tone is far different."