The Invasion of France in 1814. Erckmann-ChatrianЧитать онлайн книгу.
and green plumage, dimmed eye, and a drop of blood at the end of its beak.
It was about half-past seven when the sound of footsteps was heard at the entrance to the yard. The bull-dog went toward the door growling. He listened, sniffed the night air, then went back quietly, and began licking his dish again.
"It is some one belonging to the farm," said Annette. "Michel does not move."
Nearly at the same time, old Duchêne from outside called,—"Good-night, Master Jean-Claude. Is it you?"
"Yes. I come from Phalsbourg; and I am going to rest myself a minute before going down to the village. Is Catherine here?"
And then the good man came forward to the light, his hat pushed off his face, and his roll of sheepskins on his back.
"Good-night, my children," said he; "good-night! Always at work!"
"Yes, Monsieur Hullin, as you see," replied Jeanne, laughing. "If one had nothing to do, life would be very wearisome."
"True, my pretty girl, true. It is only work which gives you your roses and brilliant eyes."
Jeanne was going to answer, when the door of the great room opened, and Catherine Lefèvre advanced, looking piercingly at Hullin, as though to guess beforehand what news he brought.
"Well, Jean-Claude, you have returned."
"Yes, Catherine; with good tidings and bad."
They entered the large room—a high and spacious apartment wainscoted with wood to the ceiling, with its oak closets and their shining clasps, its iron stove opening into the kitchen, its old clock counting the seconds in its walnut-wood case, and the leathern arm-chair, worn and used by ten generations of aged men. Jean-Claude never went into this room without its bringing back to his remembrance Catherine's grandfather, whom he seemed still to see, with his white head, sitting behind the oven in the dark.
"Well?" demanded the old dame, offering a chair to the old shoemaker, who was just putting his pack down on the table.
"Well, from Gaspard the tidings are good; the boy is in good health. He has had hardships. All the better: it will be the making of him. But for the rest, Catherine, it is bad. The war! the war!"
He shook his head, and the old woman, her lips pressed, sat down facing him, upright in the armchair, her eyes attentively fastened on him.
"So things look badly—decidedly—we shall have the war among us?"
"Yes, Catherine, from day to day we may expect to see the allies in our mountains."
"I thought so. I was sure of it; but speak, Jean-Claude."
Hullin, then, his elbows on his knees, his red ears between his hands, and lowering his voice, began to relate all he had seen: the clearing of everything around the town, the placing of batteries on the ramparts, the proclamation of the state of siege, the cart-loads of wounded on the great square, his meeting with the old sergeant at Wittmann's, and the story of the campaign. From time to time he paused, and the old mistress of the farm blinked her eyes slowly, as though to impress more deeply the various circumstances on her mind. When Jean-Claude told about the wounded, the good woman murmured softly—"Gaspard has then escaped it all!"
Then, at the end of this mournful tale, there was a long silence, and both looked at each other without pronouncing a word.
How many reflections, how many bitter feelings filled their souls!
After some seconds, Catherine recovering from these terrible thoughts—"You see, Jean-Claude," said she, in a serious tone. "Yégof was not wrong."
"Certainly, certainly, he was not wrong," replied Hullin; "but what does that prove? A madman, who goes from village to village, who descends into Alsace, and from thence to Lorraine—who wanders from right to left—it would be very astonishing if he saw nothing, and if he did not sometimes tell the truth in his madness. Everything gets muddled in his head, and others believe they understand what he does not understand himself. But what of these wild stories, Catherine? The Austrians are upon us. It only concerns us to know if we shall allow them to pass, or if we shall have courage to defend ourselves."
"To defend ourselves!" cried the old woman, whose white cheeks trembled: "if we shall have courage to defend ourselves! Surely it is not to me that you speak, Hullin. What! are we not worthy of our ancestors? Did they not defend themselves? Were they not exterminated—men, women, and children?"
"Then you are for the defence, Catherine?"
"Yes, yes; so long as there remains to me a bit of skin on my bones. Let them come! The oldest of the women is ready!"
Her masses of gray hair shook on her head, her pale rigid cheeks quivered, and her eyes sent forth lightnings. She was beautiful to see—beautiful, like that old Margareth of whom Yégof had spoken. Hullin held out his hand silently, and gave an enthusiastic smile.
"Excellent," said he—"excellent! We are always the same in this family. I know you, Catherine: you are ready now; but be calm and listen to me. We are going to fight, and in what way?"
"In every way; all are good—axes, scythes, pitchforks."
"No doubt; but the best are muskets and the balls. We have muskets: every mountaineer keeps his above his door; unfortunately powder and balls are scarce."
The old dame became quieter all of a sudden; she pushed her hair back under her cap, and looked anxiously about.
"Yes," she rejoined brusquely; "the powder and balls are wanting, it is true, but we shall have some. Marc Divès, the smuggler, has some. You shall go and see him to-morrow from me. You shall tell him that Catherine Lefèvre will buy all his powder and balls; that she will pay him; that she will sell her cattle, her farm, land, everything—everything—to have some. Do you understand, Hullin?"
"I understand. What you would do, Catherine, is noble."
"Bah! it is noble—it is noble!" replied the old dame. "It is quite simple; I wish to revenge myself. These Austrians—these red men who have already exterminated us—well! I hate them, I detest them, from father to son. There! you will buy powder, and these mad ruffians shall see if we will rebuild their castles."
Hullin then perceived that she still thought of Yégof's tale; but seeing how exasperated she was, and that, besides, her idea contributed to the defence of the country, made no observation on that subject, and said calmly,—"So, Catherine, it is settled; I am to go over to Marc Divès's to-morrow!"
"Yes! you shall buy all his powder and lead. Some one ought also to go the round of the mountain villages, to warn the people of what is coming, and to arrange a signal beforehand for bringing them together in case of attack."
"Do not fear," said Jean-Claude. "I will undertake to charge myself with that."
Both rose and turned toward the door. For about half an hour no sounds were heard in the kitchen; the farm-servants had gone to bed. The old dame put down her lamp on the corner of the hearth, and drew the bolts. Outside the cold was intense, the air still and clear. All the peaks round, and the pine-trees of the Jägerthal, stood out against the sky in dark or light masses. In the distance, far away behind the hill-side, a fox giving chase could be heard yelping in the valley of Blanru.
"Good-night, Hullin," said Catherine.
"Good-night."
Jean-Claude walked quickly away on the heath-covered slopes, and the mistress of the farm, after watching him for a second, shut her door again.
I leave you to imagine the joy of Louise when she learnt that Gaspard was safe and sound. The poor child had hardly been living for two months. Hullin took care not to show her the dark cloud which was coming over the horizon.
Through the night he could hear her prattling in her little room, talking as though congratulating herself, murmuring Gaspard's name, opening her drawers and boxes, without doubt so as to hunt up some relics in them and tell them of her love.