"Yes," replied Catherine, like one awaking from a dream; "and many others beside us have suffered here cold, hunger, and poverty. Who has known of it? No one. And in a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years, others, perhaps, will come again to seek shelter in this same place. They will find, like us, the cold wall, the damp earth. They will make a little fire. They will look round as we do. And they will say, like us: 'Who has suffered before us here? Why have they suffered? They were then pursued, hunted, as we are, to come and hide themselves in this miserable hole.' And they will think of times past, and none will be able to reply to them!" Jean-Claude had approached. In a few seconds, the old farm-mistress, raising her head, began to say, as she regarded him: "Well! We are surrounded--the enemy wants to reduce us by famine!" "It is true, Catherine," replied Hullin. "I did not expect that. I reckoned on an attack by main force; but the _kaiserlicks_ are not yet quite as far advanced as they think. Divès has just set out for Phalsbourg; he is acquainted with the governor of the place. And if they will send only a few hundred men to our succour----" "We must not count upon it," interrupted the old woman. "Marc may be taken or killed by the Germans. And then, even suppose that he succeeds in crossing their lines, how will he be able to enter Phalsbourg? You know well that the place is besieged by the Russians!" Then every one became silent. Hexe-Baizel soon after brought the soup, and they made a circle round the steaming bowl. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXVI. Catherine Lefévre went out of the old cavern about seven o'clock in the morning; Louise and Hexe-Baizel were still asleep; but broad daylight, the splendid daylight of the upper regions, was already streaming through every abyss. At the bottom, through the bright azure, were outlined the woods, the valleys, and the rocks as clearly as the mosses and pebbles of a lake beneath its crystal waters. Not a breath disturbed the air; and Catherine, in presence of this spectacle of boundless nature, felt herself calmer, more tranquil than even in sleep. "What," said she, to herself, "are our petty troubles of a day, our trials and vexations? Why weary Heaven with our murmurs? Why dread the future? All this only lasts but for a second. Our complaints are of no more account than the cry of the grasshopper in autumn: do its cries prevent winter from coming? Must not the times and seasons be accomplished, and all die to be born again? We have been dead before and have returned again; we shall die again, and again return. And the mountains, with their forests, their rocks, and their ruins, will be ever there to say to us: 'Remember! Remember! Thou hast seen me; behold me again; and thou shalt see me again from generation to generation!'" Thus mused the old woman, and the future no longer made her afraid; thoughts for her were only memories.