Jerôme de St. Quirin had safely effected his retreat upon the farm.
Since midnight he had occupied the rising ground on which it stood.
"Who goes there?" was the challenge of the sentinels as the escort
approached.
"It is us--us from the village of Charmes," replied Marc Divès in his
stentorian voice.
They were recognised and allowed to pass.
The farm was wrapped in silence. An armed sentinel was walking up
and down before the barn, where about thirty of the mountaineers
were asleep upon some straw. Catherine, at sight of those heavy
gabled roofs, those old outhouses, those stables, of all that ancient
dwelling-place within whose walls she had passed her youth, where her
father and her grandfather had tranquilly spent their peaceful and
industrious lives, and which she was about to abandon, perhaps for
ever, Catherine felt a terrible oppression of the heart; but she kept
the feeling to herself, and springing from the sleigh, just as in
former times she used to return from market:
"Well, Louise," said she, "here we are at home again, thanks be to God."
Old Duchêne had come and opened the door, exclaiming:
"Ah! is it you, Madame Lefévre?"
"Yes, it is us! No news of Jean-Claude?"
"No, Madam."
Then they all went into the large kitchen.
Some embers were still blazing on the hearth, and under shadow of the
immense chimney-piece was sitting Jerôme de Saint-Quirin, with his
large cloth hood, his sandy pointed beard, his thick stick between his
knees, and his carbine resting against the wall.
"Good-morrow, Jerôme," said the old farm-mistress.
"Good-morrow, Catherine," answered the grave and solemn leader of the
Grosmann, "you come from the Donon?"
"Yes. Things are taking a bad turn, my poor Jerôme! we were obliged to
leave the farm, because it was attacked by the _kaiserlicks_. There was
nothing but white uniforms to be seen on every side. They were just
beginning to pass the barricades."
"Then you think that Hullin will be obliged to abandon the position?"
"If Piorette does not come to his assistance, it is possible!"
The mountaineers had drawn near the fire. Marc Divès was stooping over
the ashes to light his pipe; as he raised himself up, he exclaimed:
"For my part, Jerôme, I only wish to ask you one thing: I know already
that the men under your command fought well."
"We did our duty," replied the shoemaker; "there are sixty men lying
dead on the side of the Grosmann, who will be able to say as much at
the last judgment."
"Yes; but who, then, was it that acted as guide to the Germans? They
could not of themselves have found out the passage of the Blutfeld."
"It is Yégof, the fool Yégof," said Jerôme, whose gray eyes, circled by
deep wrinkles, and overhung by thick white eyebrows, seemed really to
flash with fire as he spoke.
"Ah! You are quite sure of it?"
"Labarbe's men saw him in the act--he was leading the others."
The mountaineers regarded each other with looks of indignation.
At this moment Doctor Lorquin, who had stayed outside to unharness the
horse, opened the door, exclaiming:
"The pass is lost! Here are our men from the Donon; I have just heard
Lagarmitte's horn."
It is easy to imagine the emotion of the bystanders. Every one began to
think of the relations, the friends, whom he might perhaps never see
again, and all, including those in the kitchen and the barn, rushed
out to learn the news. At the same moment, Robin and Dubourg, who were
placed as sentinels on the Bois-des-Chênes, exclaimed:
"Who goes there?"
"France," replied a voice.
And, in spite of the distance, Louise, thinking she recognised her
father's voice, was seized with such a sudden emotion, that Catherine
was obliged to support her in her arms.
Almost immediately the sound of a number of footsteps was heard upon
the hard crisp snow, and Louise, no longer able to contain herself,
cried out, in a trembling voice:
"Papa Jean-Claude!"
"Here I am," replied Hullin, "here I am!"
"My father?" exclaimed Frantz Materne, running to meet Jean-Claude.
"He is with us, Frantz."
"And Kasper?"
"He has received a little scratch; nothing worth speaking of; you will
see them both directly."
At the same moment Catherine threw herself into Hullin's arms.
"Oh! Jean-Claude, what happiness to see you again!"
"Yes," said the brave man, in a sorrowful tone, "there are many who
will never behold those they love again."
"Frantz," old Materne was then heard calling out, "here! this way!"
And on all sides nothing was to be seen but people looking for each
other, shaking hands and embracing. Others were calling, "Niclau!
Sapheri!" but from more than one no answer came.
Then the voices grew hoarse, as if stifling, and ended by being silent.
The joy of some, and the consternation of others, imparted a sort of
terror to the scene.
Louise was weeping freely in Hullin's arms.
"Ah! Jean-Claude," said Dame Lefévre, "you have got something to hear
about that child there. At present I shall not tell you anything,
except that we were attacked."
"Oh! yes. We will talk of all that by-and-by. We have no time to lose
now," said Hullin. "The pass of the Donon is lost, the Cossacks may be
here by daybreak, and we have still many things to do."
He turned the corner and entered the farm; every one followed him.
Duchêne had just thrown a fresh log on to the fire. Those faces
blackened with powder, still flushed with fighting, their garments
torn by bayonets, some stained with blood, advancing from the shadowy
darkness outside into the full light cast by the blazing fire,
presented a singular and striking spectacle. Kasper had his forehead
bound up with his handkerchief, having received a cut from a sabre. His
bayonet, the front of his dress, and his long blue cloth gaiters were
spotted with blood. As for old Materne, he, thanks to his imperturbable
presence of mind, returned safe and sound from the strife and carnage.
The remnants of the two troops of Jerôme and Hullin thus found
themselves re-united.
There were the same wild figures, inspired by the same energy and the
same spirit of vengeance; only the latter, harassed by fatigue, were
sitting right and left, on logs of wood, on the edge of the sink, on
the low stones of the hearth, with their head between their hands,
their elbows on their knees. Others were staring vacantly about them,
and not being able to convince themselves of the disappearance of Hans,
and Joson, and Daniel, were exchanging questions, which were followed
by long intervals of silence. Materne's two sons were holding each
other by the arm, as if they were afraid of losing one another, and
their father, behind them, leaning against the wall, with his elbow
resting on his gun, was regarding them with a contented air. "There
they are; I see them," he seemed to be saying to himself; "they are
famous fellows! They have both come off with whole skins." And the
worthy man coughed gently behind his hand. If any one came to him to
ask about Pierre, or Jacques, or Nicolas, he would answer at random:
"Yes, yes; there are plenty of them down below there lying on their
backs. But what would you have? It's the fortune of war. Your Nicolas
has done his duty. You must console yourself with that." And in the
meanwhile he was thinking to himself: "Mine are not left in the lurch;
that's what I care about most."
Catherine was laying the table, assisted by Louise. In a short time,
Duchêne came up from the cellar with a barrel of wine on his shoulder,
which he placed on the dresser; he tapped it, and then every one of the
mountaineers brought his glass, his mug, or his jug, and filled it from
the purple stream that glistened in the blazing light of the fire.
"Eat and drink!" cried the good farm-mistress; "it is not over yet, and
you've still need of all your strength. Here, Frantz, take down those
hams for me. Here is bread, knives; and now sit down, my children."
Frantz made a spit of his bayonet, and hung up the hams in the wide
fire-place.
They drew the benches forward, they sat down, and, in spite of their
grief, proceeded to eat with that vigorous appetite of which neither
present griefs nor cares for the future can wholly deprive strong men.
But that did not prevent a poignant sorrow clutching at the heart of
these brave fellows, and first one and then another would suddenly
stop, and, laying down his fork, quit the table, saying, "I have had
enough."
While the mountaineers were thus repairing their strength, their
leaders were assembled in the next room, making fresh dispositions for
the defence. They were sitting round the table, lighted by a solitary
tin lamp; Doctor Lorquin, with his great dog Pluto by his side, Jerôme
in the angle of a window on the right, Hullin on the left, quite pale.
Marc Divès, with his elbow on the table, his cheek on his hand, had his
broad shoulders turned to the door: he only showed his brown profile
and one of the corners of his long moustache. Materne alone remained
standing, as usual, against the wall, behind Lorquin's chair, his gun
at his feet. From the kitchen came the hum of voices.
When Catherine, sent for by Hullin, entered, she heard a sort of
groaning sound which caused her to start. It was Hullin who was
speaking.
"All those brave lads, all those fathers of families who fell one after
the other," he was saying, in a tone of bitter grief, "do you think
that it does not wring my very heart? Do you think that I would not
rather a thousand times over have been massacred myself? Ah! You know
not what I have suffered this night! To lose your own life is nothing,
but to bear alone the weight of such a responsibility----!"
He was silent, but the quivering of his lips, a tear that rolled slowly
down his cheek, his very attitude, all showed the scruples of the
honest man, and that he found himself in a situation where conscience
herself hesitates and seeks fresh support. Catherine went very gently
and seated herself in a large arm-chair on the left. After a few
seconds, Hullin added, in a calmer tone: "Between eleven o'clock and
midnight, Zimmer arrived, shouting, 'We are taken in the rear! The
Germans are coming down from the Grosmann; Labarbe is dead; Jerôme
cannot hold out any longer!' And then he said no more. What was to be
done? Could I beat a retreat? Could I abandon a position which had
cost us so much blood, the pass of the Donon, the road to Paris? If I
had done so, should I not have been a poltroon? But I had only three
hundred men against four thousand at Grandfontaine, and I don't know
how many who came down from the mountain! Well, cost what it would,
I resolved to hold out. It was our duty. I said to myself: 'Life is
nothing without honour! We will all die; but it shall never be said
that we have surrendered the road to France. No, no; it shall never be
said!'"
As he spoke these words, Hullin's voice again shook with emotion, his
eyes filled with tears, and he added: "We held our post; my brave
children held it until two o'clock. I saw them fall around me. As they
fell they shouted: 'Hurrah for France!' At the beginning of the action,
I had sent to warn Piorette. He arrived at full speed, with about fifty
good men. It was already too late; the enemy poured down on us right
and left; they held three parts of the ground, and drove us back into
the fir-forests on the side of the Blanru; we could not stand against
their fire. All that I could do was to collect my wounded, those who
were still able to drag themselves away, and place them under the
escort of Piorette. About a hundred of my men joined him. For myself,
I kept only fifty to go and occupy the Falkenstein. We cut our way
through the Germans who would have stopped our retreat. Fortunately
the night was dark; but for that, not a soul among us would have
escaped. This, then, is the state of things with us; all is lost! The
Falkenstein alone is left to us, and we are reduced to three hundred
men. The thing is now to know whether we are determined to go on to
the end. For myself, I have told you it is painful to me to bear such a
heavy responsibility alone. As long as it was a question of defending
the pass of the Donon, there could be no doubt about the matter: every
one owes his life to his country; but this pass is lost; we should want
ten thousand men to enable us to re-take it, and at this very moment
the enemy is entering Lorraine. Now then, what is to be done?"
"We must go on to the end," said Jerôme.
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the others.
"Is this your opinion, Catherine?"
"Certainly!" exclaimed the old farm-mistress, whose features expressed
inflexible firmness.
Then Hullin, in a firmer tone, proceeded to disclose his plan.
"The Falkenstein is our point of retreat. It is our arsenal; it is
there that we have our ammunition; the enemy know it, and will attempt
to storm it. To prevent that, we must all of us here present hasten
thither to its defence; all the country round must see us, so that they
may be able to say--Catherine Lefévre, Jerôme, Materne and his sons,
Hullin, Doctor Lorquin, are there. They will not lay down their arms!
This thought will reanimate the courage of all honest people. At the
same time, Piorette will hold himself in readiness in the woods; his
followers will increase every day. The country will soon be over-run
with Cossacks--with robbers of every description. As soon as the enemy
shall have entered Lorraine, I will make a signal to Piorette; he will
throw himself between the Donon and the road, and all the stragglers
scattered over the mountain will be caught, as in a net. We may also
profit by favourable chances to carry off the convoys of the Germans,
harass their reserves, and, if fortune favours us as we must hope, and
all these kaiserlicks should be beaten in Lorraine by our army, we
shall then be able to cut off their retreat."
Every one rose, and Hullin, entering the kitchen, made this simple
address to the mountaineers:
"My friends, we have just decided to resist to the very last. At the
same time, every one is free to do as he likes, to lay down his arms,
to return to his village; but let those who desire to avenge themselves
assemble with us; they shall share our last bit of bread and our last
cartridge."
The old bargeman Colon rose and said:
"Hullin, we are all with you; we have begun to fight all together, and
we shall finish all together."
"Yes, yes!" cried out all the others.
"You have all decided, then? Very well! listen to me. Jerôme's brother
will take the command."
"My brother is dead," interrupted Jerôme; "he is lying on the side of
the Grosmann."
There was a moment's silence; then, in a firm voice, Hullin continued:
"Colon, you will take the command of all those who are left, with the
exception of the men who formed the escort of Catherine Lefévre, and
whom I shall retain with me. You will go and rejoin Piorette in the
valley of the Blanru by the way of the Two Rivers."
"And the ammunition?" inquired Marc Divès.
"I have brought back my waggon," said Jerôme; "Colon can make use of
it."
"Let the sleigh be got ready as well," exclaimed Catherine; "when the
Cossacks come they will plunder everything. We must not let our people
go away empty-handed; let them take away the oxen, the cows, and the
goats; let them carry off everything; it is so much lost for the enemy."
Five minutes after, the farm was being completely stripped of
everything; they were loading the sleigh with hams, smoked meats,
bread; leading the cattle from the stables, harnessing the horses to
the great waggon; and in a short time the convoy set out on its march,
with Robin at the head, and the volunteers behind, pushing at the
wheels. When it had disappeared in the woods, and silence suddenly
succeeded to all this noise, Catherine, as she turned round, saw Hullin
behind her as pale as death.
"Well, Catherine," said he, "all is settled."
Frantz, Kasper, and those who formed the escort, all stood ready armed
and waiting in the kitchen.
"Duchêne," said the brave woman, "do you go down to the village; we
must not have the enemy ill-treating you on my account."
The old servant then, shaking his white head, and with his eyes full of
tears, replied:
"So that I but die here, Madame Lefévre. It is fifty years since I
first came to the farm. Do not force me to go away from it; it would be
my death."
"As you will, my poor Duchêne," replied Catherine, greatly moved at
this proof of her old servant's fidelity. "Here are the keys of the
house."
And the poor old man went and sat down on a stool beside the hearth,
with his eyes fixed, and his mouth half open, like one lost in a sad
and bewildering dream.
They set out on their way to the Falkenstein. Marc Divès on horseback,
his long rapier in his hand, formed the rear-guard. Frantz and Hullin
were on the left overlooking the mountain side; Kasper and Jerôme on
the right of the valley; Materne and the men of the escort surrounded
the women.
Strange to say, in front of the cottages of the village of Charmes, on
the doorsteps of the houses, at the casements, at the windows, appeared
faces young and old, watching with curious eyes this flight of Dame
Lefévre, and evil tongues did not spare her.
"Ah! she's come to ruin at last," said they. "This comes of meddling
with what does not concern you!"
Others made the reflection aloud that Catherine had been rich quite
long enough, and that it was now her turn to come down in the world.
As for the industry, the wisdom, the goodness of heart, and all
the other virtues of the good old farm-mistress, the patriotism of
Jean-Claude, the courage of Jerôme, and Materne and his two sons, the
disinterestedness of Doctor Lorquin, the devotion of Marc Divès, no one
said anything about them--they were conquered!
[Illustration]