Then he answered gravely:
"To-night, Mother Catherine, the greatest of evils has befallen us. It cannot be laid to Jean-Claude; for by the fault of another we have lost the fruit of all our blood and toil."
"By whose fault?"
"Labarbe's, who did not guard the defile of Blutfeld. He died afterward doing his duty like a man; but his death could not repair his fault; and if Pivrette does not arrive in time to support Hullin, all is lost. We must then abandon the road and retreat."
"What! Blutfeld in possession of the enemy."
"Yes, Mother Catherine. But who would have thought that the Germans would have entered it? A defile almost impracticable for infantry, surrounded by pointed rocks, where the herdsmen themselves can scarcely descend with their flocks and goats? Well, they passed through it, two by two, turned Roche-Creuse, crushed Labarbe, and then fell upon Jerome, who defended himself like a lion until nine at night, but finally had to take to the woods and leave the road to the Kaiserliks. That is the whole story, and it is fearful enough. Some one must have been cowardly and treacherous enough to have guided the enemy to our rear—to have delivered us over bound hand and foot. O the wretch!" cried the doctor in a trembling voice; "I am not revengeful, but if ever he falls under my hand, how I will dissect him! Ho, Bruno! Ho, boy!"
The partisans still maintained their steady shadowy march, and no word was spoken.
The horse again began a gallop, but soon slackened his pace and breathed heavily.
Mother Lefevre was once more buried in thought.