The sleigh again set off at full gallop, then, after a while, relaxed its speed; the horse was panting for breath. The old farm-mistress continued silent, to arrange these fresh ideas in her head. "I begin to understand," said she, after a few moments; "we have been attacked to-night in front and on the side." "Exactly so, Catherine; fortunately, ten minutes before the attack, one of Marc Divès' men--a smuggler, Zimmer, the ex-dragoon--came in breathless haste to put us on our guard. But for that, we should have been lost. He came up with our vanguard, after having ran the gauntlet of a whole regiment of Cossacks on the side of the Grosmann. The poor devil had received a terrible sword-thrust; his bowels were hanging over his saddle; were they not, Frantz?" "Yes," gloomily replied the young huntsman. "And what did he say?" asked the old farm-mistress. "He had only time to cry, 'To arms! we are surprised. Jerôme has sent me. Labarbe is dead. The Germans have forced the Blutfeld.'" "He was a brave man," said Catherine. "Yes, he was a brave man!" replied Frantz, despondingly. Then all became silent again, and for a long time the sleigh continued to wend its way along the winding valley. At times it was obliged to stop, the snow was so deep; three or four mountaineers then got down to lead the horse by the bridle, and they thus continued on their way. "But, for all that," rejoined Catherine, suddenly rousing herself from her reverie, "Hullin might just as well have told me." "But if he had told you of those two attacks," interrupted the doctor, "you would have wanted to stay behind." "And who could have prevented my doing what I wish? If I pleased now to alight at this moment from the sleigh and go back, should I not be free to do so I have forgiven Jean-Claude, and I am sorry that I did so." "Oh! Mother Lefévre, if he should happen to be killed while you were saying that?" murmured Louise. "The child is right," thought Catherine; and then quickly added: "I say that I am sorry for it; but he is such a brave and worthy man that you cannot be angry with him. I forgive him with all my heart; in his place I should have acted like him." Two or three hundred paces further on, they entered the defile of the Roches. The snow had ceased to fall; the moon was shining brightly between two large black and white clouds. The narrow gorge, shut in by steep rocks, lay stretched in the distance, and on the mountain sides, tall fir-trees lifted their lofty tops to the skies. Nothing disturbed the deep silence of the woods; you might have thought yourself far away from any human agitation. The silence was so profound that not only was every one of the horse's steps distinctly heard on the snow, but at times even his heavy breathing. Frantz Materne would sometimes stop, and cast a hasty, anxious glance around, then step out quickly again to overtake the others.