"Bugler!... Sound the rally ... at the double ... and quietly." It was Captain Daspry who now arrived, with a brisk gait, but with the grave and resolute face of a leader who is commanding at a solemn moment. He said to Philippe: "Is M. Morestal still unwell?" Mme. Morestal ran out from the house: "My husband is asleep.... He is very tired.... The morphia.... But, if there is anything you want, I can take his place. I know his intentions, his preparations." "We shall attempt the impossible," said the officer. And, addressing his lieutenant, he added, "It would have been madness to stay over there, wouldn't it, Fabregues? It's not a question of demolishing a few Uhlans, as we did, but of standing our ground against a whole brigade who were climbing the other slope.... Oh, it was all planned long ago!... And M. Morestal is a jolly clever man!..." The bugle sounded a low call and the Alpine Rifles emerged from every side, through the terrace, the garden and the back entrances. "That will do!" said the officer to the bugler. "They have heard ... and I don't want the enemy to hear as well." He took out his watch: "Twelve o'clock.... Two hours more, at least.... Oh, if I only had twenty-five minutes or half an hour in which to prepare my resistance.... But nothing will stop them.... The passage is free...." He called: "Fabregues!" "Yes, captain." "All the men in front of the coach-house, on the left of the garden. At the back of the coach-house is a hay-loft. Break down the door...." "Victor, show the gentleman the way," said Mme. Morestal to the servant. "Here is the key." "In the loft," continued the captain, "you will find two hundred bags of plaster.... Use them to block up the parapet of this terrace.... Quick as you can!... Every minute is worth an hour." He himself went to the parapet, measured it and counted the balusters. In the distance, within rifle-range, the Col du Diable formed a deep gash between the great rocks. Saboureux's Farm guarded the entrance. As yet, not a single figure of the enemy showed. "Ah, twenty minutes!... If I only had twenty minutes!" repeated the officer. "The position of the Old Mill is hard to beat. One would stand a chance or two ..." An adjutant and a couple more soldiers appeared at the top of the staircase. "Well?" asked Captain Daspry. "Are they coming?" "The vanguard was turning the corner of the factory, at five hundred yards from the pass," replied the adjutant. "Are there any more of our men behind you?" "Yes, captain, there's Duvauchel. He's wounded. They've laid him on a stretcher...." "Duvauchel!" cried the officer, anxiously. "It's not a serious wound, I hope?" "Upon my word ... I shouldn't like to say." "Dash it all! But then one saw nothing but that devil in the front line.... There was no holding him...." "Yes," chuckled the adjutant, "he has a way of his own of deserting in the face of the enemy!... He charges straight at them, the beggar!"