At the end of the dark walk was the court-yard of the farm, down to
which you descended by five or six worn steps. On the left were the
barn and the wine-press; on the right, the stables and pigeon-house,
the gable roof of which stood out in strong and black relief against
the dark and cloudy sky, while exactly opposite the door was the
wash-house.
No sound from without reached this spot. Hullin, after so many scenes
of tumult, was struck by this perfect and profound silence. He surveyed
the trusses of straw suspended among the beams of the barn up to the
very roof, the wheelbarrows, the carts--these latter standing in
the shadow of the outhouses--with a feeling of calm and indefinable
complacency. A cock was strutting about on the ground in the midst of
his hens, who were sleeping all along the wall. A large cat flew by
like lightning, and disappeared through a hole in the cellar. Hullin
felt as if awakening from a dream. After a few moments of this silent
contemplation, he was proceeding slowly towards the wash-house, the
three windows of which were shining like stars in the midst of the
darkness.
The farm-kitchen not sufficing to prepare the food of three or four
hundred men, they had set up a temporary one in this part of the
premises.
Master Jean-Claude heard the fresh voice of Louise issuing orders in a
little resolute tone that quite took him by surprise.
"Come, Come, Katel! let's be quick; it's near supper-time. We mustn't
let our people be hungry. Since six o'clock this morning to have eaten
nothing, and fighting hard all the while! We mustn't keep them waiting.
Now then, Lesselé, come along, stir yourself--salt, pepper!"
Jean-Claude's heart leapt within him at the sound of this voice. He
could not resist the pleasure of looking through the window for a
moment before he went in. The kitchen was large, but rather low, and
the walls were whitewashed. A large fire of beech-wood was blazing on
the hearth, and encircling with its spiral columns of flame the black
sides of an immense _marmite_ (cauldron). The chimney-piece, very high
and rather narrow, hardly sufficed to carry off the thick clouds of
smoke that rose from the fire-place. The bright light served to clearly
reveal the charming figure of Louise as she moved briskly about,
coquettishly attired in a short petticoat, which afforded greater
freedom to her limbs; her pretty face crimsoned in the ruddy glow; her
bosom confined in a little bodice of red cloth, which displayed to
perfection her sloping shoulders and graceful neck. There she was, in
the very heat of action, going and coming, and tasting the dishes with
her little bustling, housewifely air, trying the soup, approving and
criticising. "A little more salt, a little of this, a little of that.
Lesselé, won't you soon have finished plucking our great scraggy cock?
At this rate, we shall never be ready."
It was really a charming sight to see her take the command thus.
Hullin felt the tears come into his eyes. The two daughters of the
Anabaptist; one, long, dry, and pale, with her large flat feet thrust
into round shoes, her red hair tucked up under a little coif of black
taffeta, her blue cotton gown descending in long folds to her heels;
the other, fat and plump, who waddled like a goose, lifting her feet
slowly one after the other, and balancing herself with her arms akimbo;
these two honest girls formed the strangest contrast to Louise. The fat
Katel went to and fro quite out of breath, without saying a word, while
Lesselé, in an absent, dreamy way, did all by rule and compass.
The worthy Anabaptist himself, seated at the other end of the
wash-house on a wooden chair, with his legs across, his head turned up,
his cotton cap on the back of his head, and his hands in the pockets
of his gaberdine, was watching everything with a look of astonishment,
and saying from time to time, in a sententious voice: "Lesselé, Katel,
do just as she bids you, my children; it will be a good lesson for you;
you've not yet seen the world; you must get on quicker."
"Yes, yes; we must bustle about," Louise would rejoin; "what would
become of us if we were to take months and weeks to consider about
putting a little garlic in the sauce? You, Lesselé, you are the
tallest; just reach me down that rope of onions from the ceiling."
And the tall girl instantly did as she was bid.
It was the proudest moment in Hullin's life. "How she orders the others
about!" said he to himself; "he! he! he! she is a regular little
hussar, a white-sergeant! I never suspected her of it."
And it was only at last, after five minutes' watching, that he made up
his mind to go in.
"Holloa! all right, children!"
Louise was at that moment peeping into a saucepan, spoon in hand; she
left everything, and ran to throw herself into his arms, exclaiming:
"Papa Jean-Claude! Papa Jean-Claude! is it you? You are not wounded?
you are not hurt?"
Hullin, at the sound of that loving voice, turned pale, and was unable
to reply.
It was only after a long silence, and still holding his dear child
pressed close to his heart, that he was able at length to say, in a
faltering voice, "No, Louise, no; I am very well, and I feel very
happy."
"Sit down, Jean-Claude," said the Anabaptist, who saw him trembling
with emotion; "see, here is my chair."
Hullin sat down, and Louise, seating herself on his knee, with her arm
on his shoulder, began to cry.
"What is the matter, dear child?" said the brave man, in a low voice,
and embracing her affectionately. "Come, be calm; a moment ago I saw
you so courageous."
"Ah, yes! I was pretending to be so; but, do you know, I was in a great
fright all the while? I kept saying to myself, 'Why does he not come?'"
She threw her arms round his neck; then, in a natural outburst of joy,
she took the good man by the hand, exclaiming: "Come, Papa Jean-Claude,
let's have a dance!" and she waltzed him two or three times round the
room.
Hullin smiled in spite of himself, and turning to the Anabaptist, who
still preserved his serious air, "We are a little mad, Pelsly," said
he; "you mustn't let that surprise you."
"No, Master Hullin; it's very natural. King David himself, after his
great victory over the Philistines, danced before the ark."
Jean-Claude, astonished at resembling King David, made no reply. "And
you, Louise," he replied, after a pause, "were you not afraid during
the last battle?"
"Well, I was at first; all that noise, and those cannon shots; but
afterwards, I thought of nothing but you and Mother Lefévre."
Master Jean-Claude became silent. "I knew," he was thinking, "that that
child had a brave heart. She thinks of everything, and fears nothing."
Louise then, taking him by the hand, led him in front of a regiment of
saucepans all round the fire, and proudly pointed out to him all her
cookery. "Here is the beef, here is the roast meat, here is the supper
for General Jean-Claude, and here is the soup for our wounded. Ah!
we've had to make haste! Lesselé and Katel can tell you. And here is
our great batch of bread!" She went on pointing to a long row of loaves
ranged on the table. "Mother Lefévre and I baked it."
Hullin listened, quite wonderstruck.
"But that's not all," she added; "come this way."
She took off the iron lid of the oven, at the other end of the
wash-house, and the kitchen was immediately filled with an odour of
delicious cake that rejoiced the heart. Master Jean-Claude was quite
overcome.
At this moment Dame Lefévre entered the room. "Come," said she; "we
must lay the table; everybody is ready and waiting. Come, Katel, go and
lay the cloth."
The fat girl ran quickly out, and then, all together crossing the dark
court-yard, one behind the other, proceeded towards the keeping-room
of the farm. There they found Doctor Lorquin, Despois, Marc Divès,
Materne, and his two sons, all sharp-set, and provided with good stout
appetites, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the soup.
"And our wounded, Doctor?" exclaimed Hullin, entering.
"All is finished, Master Jean-Claude; you've given us some tough jobs
to do; but the weather is favourable; there is no fear of putrid
fevers, and all is going as well as can be."
Katel, Lesselé, and Louise shortly after entered, carrying an enormous
smoking soup-tureen, and two magnificent joints of roast beef, which
they placed upon the table. They took their places without any
ceremony, old Materne to the right of Jean-Claude, Catherine Lefévre on
his left, and from that time the clattering of knives and forks, and
the opening of bottles, took the place of conversation until half-past
eight in the evening. Out of doors, the reflection of bright fires on
the window-panes announced that the other volunteers were also enjoying
themselves, and doing justice to Louise's cookery, which still further
contributed to the satisfaction of the guests within.
At nine o'clock, Marc Divès was on his way to Falkenstein with the
prisoners. By ten o'clock every one was asleep at the farm, and on the
mountain around the camp fires.
Nothing broke the silence, save, from time to time, the distant
challenge of the sentinels on duty, going their rounds.
Thus ended this day, on which the mountaineers proved that they had not
degenerated from the ancient race.
Other events, not less grave, were soon to succeed those which had just
taken place; for in this world, one obstacle is no sooner overcome,
than others present themselves. Human life resembles a troubled sea;
one wave follows another from the old world to the new, and nothing can
stop this eternal movement.
[Illustration]