"No," she retorted, in a firm tone, resuming her occupation--"no, it is not that. And to tell you the truth, during the whole of the battle, and even at the very moment when the cannon was roaring against us, I was not one bit afraid; I was certain beforehand that we could not be beaten: I had already seen that, but now I am afraid!" "But the Germans have evacuated Schirmeck; all the line of the Vosges is defended; we have more people than we require; they keep on coming every minute." "No matter!" Hullin shrugged his shoulders. "Come, come, you are excited, Catherine; try to be calm, and think of pleasanter things. As for all these dreams, look you, I value them just as much as I do the Grand Turk, with his pipe and his blue stockings. The great thing is to be well on our guard, to have plenty of ammunition, men and cannon; these are worth much more than the very brightest of dreams." "You are laughing at me, Jean-Claude." "No; but to hear a woman of good sense and great courage speak like you, reminds one, in spite of oneself, of Yégof, who boasts of having lived sixteen hundred years ago." "Who knows," said the old woman, in a persistent tone, "whether he recollects what others have forgotten?" Hullin was about to relate to her his conversation of the evening before at the camp with the fool, thinking thus to upset from top to bottom all her dismal visions; but seeing that she held the same opinion as Yégof on the question of the sixteen hundred years, the brave fellow said nothing more, and resumed his silent walk, with head hung down and careworn brow. "She is mad," he was thinking to himself; "one more little shock, and it will be all over with her." Catherine, after a moment, in which she seemed to be lost in thought, was just about to say something, when Louise came skimming in like a swallow, exclaiming, in her sweetest voice:-- "Mother Lefévre, Mother Lefévre, here is a letter from Gaspard!" Then the old farm-mistress, whose hooked nose seemed bent down till it almost met her lips, so indignant was she to see Hullin turn her dream into ridicule, raised her head, and the deep wrinkles in her cheeks relaxed. She took the letter, looked at the red seal, and said to the young girl: "Kiss me, Louise; it is a good letter." And Louise immediately bestowed on her a warm embrace. Hullin had joined them, quite delighted at this incident, and Brainstein, the postman, with his thick shoes an inch deep in snow, stooping shoulders, and his two hands leaning on his stick, stationed himself at the door with a tired look. The old woman put on her spectacles, opened the letter in a sort of meditative way under the impatient eyes of Jean-Claude and Louise, and read aloud: