CHAPTER XXIII.

Jerome 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 Dives 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 Duchene had come and opened the door, exclaiming:

"Ah! is it you, Madame Lefevre?"

"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 Jerome 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, Jerome," 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 Jerome! 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 Dives was stooping over the ashes to light his pipe; as he raised himself up, he exclaimed:

"For my part, Jerome, 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 Yegof, the fool Yegof," said Jerome, 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-Chenes, 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 Lefevre, "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. Duchene 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 Jerome 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, Duchene 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, Jerome in the angle of a window on the right, Hullin on the left, quite pale. Marc Dives, 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; Jerome 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 Jerome.

"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 Lefevre, Jerome, 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. Jerome's brother will take the command."

"My brother is dead," interrupted Jerome; "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 Lefevre, 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 Dives.

"I have brought back my waggon," said Jerome; "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.

"Duchene," 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 Lefevre. 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 Duchene," 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 Dives 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 Jerome 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 Lefevre, 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 Jerome, and Materne and his two sons, the disinterestedness of Doctor Lorquin, the devotion of Marc Dives, no one said anything about them--they were conquered!