"Splendid! Bah! To drive from our doors those Austrians, those Prussians, the red-bearded race who once already all but exterminated ours! They are our mortal foes! You will buy the powder, and the wretches will see whether their old castles are to be rebuilt by us!" Hullin saw that Yegof's story yet preyed upon her mind, but he said simply: "Then it is understood. I go to Marc-Dives's to-morrow?" "Yes," replied Catherine; "and you will buy all his powder and lead. You must also go to all the villages in the mountains, to warn our people of the danger and agree upon a signal to be used in case of attack." "Rest easy as to that," said Jean-Claude; "it shall be my care." Both had risen and turned toward the door. For half an hour past the noise in the kitchen had ceased; the people of the farm had retired. The old woman placed her lamp on the chimney-shelf and drew the bolts. The cold without was sharp, but the air clear and still. The peaks around, and the fires on the Jaeger that stood out against the dark-blue sky in masses of silver or jet, and no sound broke the quiet save the short bark of a far-off fox. "Good-night, Hullin," said the old woman. "Good-night, Catherine." Jean-Claude walked rapidly down the heath-covered slope, and his late hostess, after following him for a few moments with her eyes, closed the door. I must leave you to imagine the joy of Louise when she learned that her Gaspard was safe. Hullin was careful not to mar her joy by a view of the dark cloud rising upon its horizon. All night he heard her talking to herself in her little chamber, murmuring the name of Gaspard, and opening drawers and boxes to find tokens he had left. Thus does the linnet, unmindful of the coming storm, sing in the fast-receding sunshine. Chapter V. When Jean-Claude, the next morning, pushed open his window-shutters, he saw the neighboring mountains--Jaegerthal, Grosmann, Donon--covered with snow. This first sight of winter--when it overtakes us in our sleep--has a strange attraction about it. The old firs, the moss-covered rocks, were yesterday still clothed in their verdure, but now they glitter with frost, and fill our soul with an indescribable sense of sadness. {165} "Another year has passed away," we murmur to ourselves; "another rude season must pass away before the flowers return!" And we hurry to don our great-coat or to light a roaring fire. Our little retreat is full of white light, and without we hear the sparrows--the poor sparrows crouching beneath the eaves and bushes--who with ruffled feathers seem to cry, "No breakfast this morning--no breakfast!" Hullin put on his heavy double-soled shoes and his thickest jacket. He heard Louise walking over his head in the little garret. "Louise," he cried, "I am going." "What! to-day again?" "Yes, my child; I must. My business is not yet finished." Then pulling his broad felt hat over his head, he went half-way up the stairs, and said in a low tone: