Chapter IX.

The farm-house presented a bustling scene when Jean-Claude, Doctor Lorquin, and the others arrived. The kitchen-fire had been blazing since day-break, and old Duchêne was drawing from the oven innumerable loaves of bread, the fresh, crisp odor of which filled the whole house. Annette piled them in heaps beside the hearth, Louise waited upon the guests, and Catherine saw to everything.

Hullin, from his seat, gazed at his old cousin.

"What a woman she is!" he muttered. "She forgets nothing. Comrades," he exclaimed, "to Catherine Lefevre's health!"

"To Catherine's health!" cried the others; and the glasses clinked in the midst of discussions on battles, attacks, defences, and retreats. Every one was full of cheerful confidence; every one declared that all would go well.

But heaven had still a joy reserved for that day--especially for Louise and Mother Lefevre. Toward noon, when the bright sunshine sparkled on the snow and melted the frost upon the window-panes, old _Yohan_, the toothless and almost blind watchdog, began to bay so joyously that all present stopped talking, and listened.

"What can it mean?" thought Catherine. "Since my boy's departure Yohan has not barked like that."

Swift steps were heard crossing the yard; Louise sprang to the door; a soldier appeared on the threshold--but a soldier so worn, thin, weary, and ragged--his old grey great-coat so torn, his canvas gaiters so tattered, that a murmur of pity ran from mouth to mouth.

He seemed unable to go a step further, and slowly placed the butt of his musket upon the ground; his face was the color of bronze, but his unkempt moustaches trembled, his cheeks grew pale beneath their brown skin, and his hollow eyes filled with tears when he gazed on the party within.

Without, the old dog barked, whined, and tugged at his chain; within, you could hear the fire crackle in the deep silence. But in a moment Catherine had rushed forward, and was hanging upon the soldier's neck.

"Gaspard! Gaspard! my boy!" she cried, while the tears burst from her eyes.

"Yes, mother!" he replied, in a voice choked by a sob.

Then Louise sobbed too, and then the whole kitchen was filled with voices. Gaspard's name was on every tongue, and every hand was stretched forth to clasp his.

But the mother would not yet give up her son; the woman, a moment before so strong, so brave, so resolute, still hung weeping upon his neck, his brown hair mingling with her grey locks, as he murmured:

"Mother! mother! how often have I thought of this meeting! But where is Louise?" he said. "I thought I saw her."

And then Louise ran forward, blushing, while she exclaimed:

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"I knew it was Gaspard! I knew him by his step!" And old Duchene, twirling his cotton cap in his hand, muttered:

"Great heaven Is that my poor child in such a plight?"

He had taken care of Gaspard from infancy, and, since his departure, had always imagined him fresh and stout, in a fine blue uniform with red facings. He struggled to collect his ideas so rudely scattered.

But his friends surrounded the young soldier; his musket, his shako, his knapsack, and his belts were merrily captured, and at last old Hullin cried, with moist eyes:

"Poor Gaspard! How glad I am to see you safe and sound! Ha! ha!" he continued, trying hard to laugh, "I would rather, though, see you as you are than with the fat, round cheeks you took away with you. You are a man now; you remind me of the old days of the Sambre and of Egypt. Ha! ha! ha! our noses were sharp enough then, my boy; and our teeth were long and sharp too."

"Yes, yes; I know what that means, Father Jean-Claude; but let us sit down and talk. What is going on? What brings you all to the farm?"

"Have you not heard? All the country is in arms, from La Houpe to Saint-Sauveur, and I am commander-in-chief."

"Hurrah! Then the Kaiserlik beggars sha'n't find a road here so easily. But pass me the knife. That ham is not yet finished. Sit by me, Louise, and help me to the bread. A few days like this would soon make my bones grow smaller. They wouldn't know me in the company."

All wondered at the speed with which the provisions disappeared. The soldier's eyes often turned to his mother and Louise, and he smiled sadly as he gazed upon them; but all this was without losing time in his attack. The poor fellow was well-nigh famished, and old Duchene muttered, as he looked at him:

"Great heaven! No wonder that so many die of want!"

"But tell us, Gaspard," said Hullin, "without interrupting your breakfast, how comes it that you are here? We thought you on the banks of the Rhine, near Strasbourg."

"Aha! I understand you," replied Gaspard, with a knowing wink of the eye; "you mean that there are a good many deserters running about, don't you?"

"Such an idea in regard to you never struck me, and yet--"

"You would not be sorry to know that I am all right. Well, Father Jean-Claude, you are right; for whoever runs from roll-call when the Kaiserliks are in France, deserves to be shot. But look here."

Hullin took a paper which the young man held out to him and read:

"Twenty-four hours' leave is given to the grenadier Gaspard Lefevre. January 3d, 1814. Gemeau, Chief of Battalion."

"Very good," said the old man; "put it in your knapsack; you might lose it. You see, my friends," he continued gayly, "I know all about this thing called love. It is very good and very bad, but particularly bad for young soldiers who happen to be near their village after a campaign. They sometimes forget themselves and return to camp with three or four gendarmes showing them the way. I have seen it once or twice. But, now, as everything is in order, let us drink a glass to Gaspard's health. What say you, Catherine? The men from the Sarre may be here any moment, so we have no time to lose."

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"You are right, Jean-Claude," replied the old woman sadly. "Annette, go to the cellar and bring three bottles here! But your leave, Gaspard," she asked; "how long does it last?"

"I received it last night at eight o'clock at Vasselonne. The regiment is retreating on Lorraine, and I must rejoin it this evening at Phalsbourg."

"Then you have yet seven hours before you; you will only need six to reach there, although there is much snow on Foxthal."

The good woman sat by her son; her heart beat painfully; she could not conceal her trouble. Louise leaned on Gaspard's worn-out epaulette and sobbed. Hullin bent his brows, but said nothing until the bottles arrived and the glasses were filled.

"Come, come, Louise!" he cried, "Courage! These wars cannot last for ever; they must end one way or the other; and then Gaspard will return, and we shall have a merry wedding of it."

He filled up the glasses, and Catherine dried her eyes, muttering, however, as she did so:

"And to think that those robbers are the cause of all this! But let them come! They will rue it."

The old wine, however, cheered all, and Gaspard told the story of Bautzen, Lutzen, Leipsic, and Hanau, where conscripts fought like veterans, winning victory after victory until treason ruined all.

Every one listened in silence. Jean-Claude's eyes flashed as he heard how rivers were forded and crossed amid storms of shells and bullets; how batteries were carried by the bayonet alone; and how hussars and cossacks were hurled back from the steady squares. The doctor inquired particularly about the positions of the field-hospitals; Materne and his sons bent forward with ears erect, and lips pressed tight together, fearing to lose a word; Catherine looked with pride upon a son who had borne a part in scenes over which ages will grieve or rejoice; and the ardor of all present mounted to the highest pitch as more than one muttered that the end was not yet.

At length the hour for Gaspard's departure arrived. He arose, but when Louise clung to his neck and with sobs implored him to stay, the color left his cheeks.

"I am a soldier," he said; "my name is Gaspard Lefevre; I love thee a thousand times better than my life; but I must not disgrace that name."

He unclasped her arms, and Hullin tore them apart.

"Well said!" cried the old sabot-maker; "and spoken as a man should speak."

Catherine buckled the knapsack on her son's back; she did so calmly, but her brows were knitted, and she tried hard to press her quivering lips tightly together, while two great tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks.

"Go--go--my child," she sobbed, "and take your mother's blessing with you, and if it should be the will of God that--that--"

But the poor woman's stout heart could sustain her no longer; she burst into an agony of weeping. Gaspard seized his musket, and, covering his eyes with his hand, rushed from the house.

All this while the men from the Sarre with picks and their axes were making their way up along the Valtin path. The sounds of their voices could already be heard, as they laughed and jested as if on the way to a festival, and not to privation, danger, and death.

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