"You must not expect me back very soon, child, for I must go a long way off. Do not be uneasy. If they ask you where I am gone, say to Cousin Mathias, at Saverne." "Will you not have some breakfast before starting?" "No; I have put a loaf of bread and the little flask of brandy in my pocket. Farewell, my child. Be happy, and think of Gaspard." And, without waiting for more questions, he seized his staff and left the cottage, directing his steps toward the hill to the left of the village. At the end of a quarter of an hour he had passed it and reached the path of the Three Fountains, which winds around Falkenstein by an old wall. The first snow never lasts long in the damp shadows of the valleys, and it had already begun to melt and form a stream in the pathway. Hullin mounted the wall to escape the water, and throwing a glance toward the village saw a few old women sweeping the snow from before their doors, and a few old men exchanging their morning greetings and smoking their morning pipes at their thresholds. He pursued his way along dreamily, murmuring: "How tranquil all is there! None suspect that danger is nigh, and yet in a few days what tumults, what shrieks, what crashing of cannon and clattering of muskets will fill the air!" Powder was the first necessity, and we have seen how Catherine Lefevre turned her thoughts to Marc-Dives the smuggler; but she did not speak of his amiable helpmate, Hexe-Baizel. The couple lived at the other side of Falkenstein, beneath the cliff on which the ruined castle stood. They had hollowed out for themselves a very comfortable den, although it possessed but one entrance and two little windows, but rumor hinted that it communicated with ancient subterranean passages. These last, however, the custom-house officials were never able to discover, notwithstanding several visits they made the worthy pair with this object in view. Jean-Claude and Marc-Dives knew one another from infancy; they had many a time together driven the owl and the hawk from their nests, and still saw one another at least once a week at the saw-mill. Hullin placed full reliance upon the smuggler, but he somewhat mistrusted Madame Hexe-Baizel. "However," said he, as he neared their domicile, "we shall see." He had lighted his pipe, and from time to time turned to contemplate the immense stretch of country spread out before him. Nothing can be more magnificent than the view of snow-covered wooded mountains, rising peak after peak far into the pale-blue sky until sight is lost in distance, and separated by dark valleys, each with its torrent flowing over mossy stones, green and polished like bronze. {166}