"Provisions!" said Brenn, with a strange smile. "Do you know, Mother Lefevre, for how long we are supplied?"
"For a fortnight, at least," replied Catherine.
"For a week," said the smuggler, shaking out the ashes of his pipe on his nail.
"It is true," said Hullin. "Marc-Dives and I believed that an attack would be made on Falkenstein; we never thought the enemy would besiege it like a fortress. We were mistaken."
"And what is to be done?" asked Catherine, growing pale.
"We must reduce each one's ration to half. If Marc does not return in a fortnight, we shall have no more. Then, indeed, we must see what is to be done."
So saying, Hullin with Catherine and the smugglers, their heads drooping, took the path to the notch. They reached the descent, when, thirty feet beneath them, they saw Materne climbing breathlessly among the stones, and dragging himself along by the bushes to increase his speed.
"Well," cried Jean-Claude, "what has happened?"
"Ah! there you are. I was going to look for you. One of the enemy's officers is coming along the wall of the old burg, with a little white flag. He seems to desire a parley."
Hullin, directing his steps toward the slope of the rock, saw, indeed, a German officer standing upon the wall, seemingly awaiting a sign to ascend. He was two musket-shots off, and further away were five or six soldiers, resting on their arms.