"Do not forget to cease firing when Lagarmitte winds his horn; we cannot afford to lose powder."
He found Materne at his post, lighting his pipe; the old man's beard was frozen almost solid.
"They seem to be in no hurry to attack," said Jean-Claude. "Can it be that they will take another route through the mountains?"
"Never fear it," answered the old man. "They need the road for their artillery and baggage. Listen! The bugles are sounding, 'Boots and saddles.' But do you know, Hullin," asked the hunter with a low chuckle, "what I saw a while ago in Grandfontaine? I saw four Austrians knock old Dubreuil, the friend of the Allies, down and thrash him well with sticks, the old wretch! It did my heart good. I suppose he refused some of his wine to his good friends."
Hullin listened to no more; for, happening to cast his eyes to the valley, he saw a regiment of infantry debouching on the road. Beyond, in the street, cavalry were advancing, five or six officers galloping in front.
"At last!" cried the old soldier, his face lighting up with a look of fierce determination—"at last!"
And dashing along the line, he cried:
"Attention, men of the Vosges!"
Lagarmitte followed with his bugle. Ten minutes after, when the two, all breathless, had reached the pinnacle of the rock, they saw the enemy's column fifteen hundred feet beneath them, about three thousand strong, with their long white coats, canvas-gaiters, bear-skin shakos, and red mustaches, their young officers, sword in hand, curveting in the intervals between the companies, and from time to time turning round and shouting hoarsely, "Forvertz! forvertz!" while above the line the bayonets flashed and glittered in the sun.