At the bottom of the valley of the Bouleaux, about two gun-shots from
the village of Charmes, on the left, the little troop began to ascend
slowly the footpath of the old _burg_. Hullin, remembering that he
had followed the same road when he went to buy powder of Marc Divès,
could not help a feeling of deep sadness from stealing over him. Then,
in spite of his journey to Phalsbourg, in spite of the spectacle of
the wounded of Hanau and of Leipzic, in spite of the old sergeant's
recital, he despaired of nothing; he preserved all his energy, and had
no fear of the success of the defence. How all was lost: the enemy
was descending on Lorraine, the mountaineers were flying. Marc Divès
was riding slowly by the side of the wall through the snow; his big
horse, accustomed, no doubt, to this journey, kept neighing, tossing up
his head, and dropping it down again on his breast, in sudden jerks.
The smuggler turned round in his saddle from time to time, to throw a
glance back on the farm of Bois-des-Chênes they were quitting. Suddenly
he exclaimed:
"Hi! here are the Cossacks in sight!"
At this exclamation all the troops halted to look about. They were
already a good way up the mountain, above the village and even the farm
of Bois-des-Chênes. The gray wintry dawn was dispersing the mists of
morning, and amid the recesses of the mountain were visible the forms
of several Cossacks, with head erect, pistol in hand, approaching at a
slow pace the old homestead. They were advancing cautiously, and seemed
as if they feared a surprise. A few moments after, others appeared in
sight, ascending the valley of the Houx, then others still, and all in
the same attitude, standing up in their stirrups, to see as far off
as possible, like men who are hoping to discover something. The first
comers, having passed the farm and observing nothing threatening, waved
their lances and wheeled half-round. All the others then galloped up to
the spot, like crows following one of their number who has taken wing,
supposing he has just discovered a prey. In a few seconds the farm was
surrounded, the door opened. Two minutes later, there was a crashing
of glass, and out through the windows came furniture, mattrasses, and
linen tumbling about in all directions. Catherine, with her hooked nose
drawn down to her very lip, looked calmly on this scene of ravage.
For a long time she said nothing, but suddenly seeing Yégof, whom she
had not perceived until then, strike Duchêne with the butt of his
lance, and push him out of the farm, she could not restrain a cry of
indignation:
"Oh! the brute! What a coward he must be to strike a poor old man, who
cannot defend himself. Ah! the wretch!"
"Come, Catherine," said Jean-Claude, "we've seen enough of it; there's
no good in feasting your eyes on that!"
"You are right," said the old farm-mistress; "let us go: I should be
tempted to go down among them to avenge myself single-handed."
The higher they ascended the mountain, the clearer and sharper grew
the air. Louise, the true daughter of the _Heimathslôs_, with a
little basket of provisions on her arm, was climbing the steep side
at the head of the troop. The pale blue sky, the plains of Alsace and
Lorraine, and, quite on the verge of the horizon, those of Champagne,
all that boundless expanse stretching far as the eye could reach,
excited in her breast feelings of the deepest enthusiasm. She seemed as
if she had wings to skim the azure vault of heaven, like those great
birds which sweep down from the tops of the trees to the abyss below
uttering their cry of freedom. All the miseries of this lower world,
all its injustices and its sufferings, were forgotten. In fancy Louise
again saw herself just a little creature on the back of her mother, the
poor strolling gipsy, and said to herself: "I was never more happy,
never had less care, never laughed and sang so much! And yet we often
wanted bread then. Ah! those were happy days!" And then snatches of old
songs would come back to her mind.
At the approaches to the rock, which was of a reddish-brown, incrusted
with large black and white pebbles, and inclining over the precipice
like the arches of an immense cathedral, Louise and Catherine stopped
in an ecstacy of surprise and delight at the scene that lay before
them. Overhead, the firmament appeared to them still more spacious,
the path cut in the rock still narrower. The valleys stretching away
far out of sight, the endless woods, the distant lakes and pools of
Lorraine, the narrow streamlet of the Rhine like a blue riband on
their right. This grand spectacle touched them deeply, and the old
farm-mistress said, with a sort of enthusiasm:
"Jean-Claude, He who has cut this rock that towers to the skies, who
has hollowed out these valleys, who has planted the trees, the shrubs,
and the mosses of the forest, He will render us the justice we deserve."
As they stood thus regarding the steep and lofty rock, Marc Divès led
his horse into a cavern near at hand, then he returned, and beginning
the ascent before them, he said to them:
"Take care; it is very slippery."
At the same time he pointed out to them, on their right, the blue
precipice with the tops of the tall fir-trees at the bottom.
Every one became silent until they came to the terrace where the vault
began. Arrived there, each one seemed to breathe more freely. They saw,
about halfway, the smugglers, Brenn, Pfeifer, and Toubac, with their
large gray cloaks, and black felt hats, sitting round a fire which
seemed to extend the whole length of the rock. Marc Divès said to them:
"Here we are. The _kaiserlicks_ have got the upper hand. Zimmer has
been killed to-night. Is Hexe-Baizel up above there?"
"Yes," replied Brenn, "she is making cartridges."
"They may be of use still," said Marc; "keep your eye open, and if you
see any one approaching, fire upon him."
The Maternes had stopped on the edge of the rock, and those three tall
red fellows, their felt hats pushed back, their powder-flask on their
hip, carbine on shoulder, long muscular legs firmly planted on the
solid point of the rock, formed a strange and striking group. Old
Materne, with outstretched hand, was pointing out at a distance, very
far off, an almost imperceptible white speck in the middle of the fir
forests, saying:
"Do you know what that is, boys?"
And they all three looked at it with half-closed eyes.
"It is our house," replied Kasper.
"Poor Magrédel!" replied the old huntsman, after a moment's silence.
"How uneasy she must have been for the last week! What vows has she not
offered up for us to Saint Odile!"
Just at this moment, Marc Divès, who was in front, uttered a cry of
surprise. "Dame Lefévre," said he, suddenly stopping short, "the
Cossacks have set fire to your farm!"
Catherine received this news with the utmost calmness, and advanced
to the very edge of the terrace; Louise and Jean-Claude followed
her. The bottom of the abyss was covered with a thick white cloud;
through this cloud was to be seen a bright spark in the direction of
Bois-des-Chênes, and nothing more; but at intervals, when there was
a gust of wind, the fire was distinctly visible. The two tall black
gables, the haystack on fire, the little stables with flames bursting
from them; then all disappeared again.
"'Tis already nearly over," said Hullin, in a low voice.
"Yes," replied the old farm-mistress, "there goes forty years of labour
and toil; but no matter--they cannot burn our good lands, the broad
meadows of the Eichmath. We will set to work again. Gaspard and Louise
will put that all right. I do not repent of what I have done."
After about a quarter of an hour, there was a regular volley of sparks,
and then the whole lay in ruins. The black gables alone were left
standing. They then resumed their way up the steep and rocky footpath.
As they reached the upper terrace, they heard the sharp voice of
Hexe-Baizel:
"Is it you, Catherine?" she exclaimed. "Ah! I never thought that you
would come and see me in my poor hole."
Hexe-Baizel and Catherine Lefévre had formerly been school-fellows
together, so they now addressed each other in a familiar manner.
"Nor I either," replied the old farm-mistress; "but no matter, Baizel,
in misfortune we are always glad to meet with an old friend of our
childhood." Baizel seemed touched by the remark.
"All that is here, Catherine, is yours," she exclaimed--"all!"
She pointed to her poor stool, her besom of green broom, and the five
or six billets of wood on her hearth. Catherine looked around for some
moments in silence, and said:
"It is not much, but it is solid; one comfort, they will not burn your
house down."
"No, they will not burn it," said Hexe-Baizel, with a laugh; "they
would want a large quantity of wood even to warm it a little. He! he!
he!"
The volunteers, after so many fatigues, felt in need of repose, so
every one hastened to rest his gun against the wall, and to stretch
himself upon the ground. Marc Divès opened the door of the inner cavern
for them, where they were at least under shelter; then he went out with
Hullin to examine the position.