Whilst Hullin, informed of the disasters that had befallen our armies, was walking with downcast head and knitted brows towards the village of Charmes, all was going on as usual at the farm of Bois-de-Chênes. The fantastic stories of Yégof--the rumours of war--were alike forgotten for the present; old Duchêne led his oxen to the water, the shepherd Robin foddered his cattle, and Annette and Jeanne skimmed their pans of milk, and made their curds-and-whey. Catherine Lefévre alone, gloomy and silent, mused continually on the past, while, at the same time, overlooking with an impassive face the doings of her household. She was too old, and of too serious a nature, to forget from one day to the next anything that had so greatly moved her. When night came, after the evening meal, she went into the inner apartment, where her people heard her take the heavy ledger from the cupboard, and lay it on the table, to make up her accounts, as it was her custom to do. They immediately began to load the heavy cart with corn, vegetables, and poultry, for on the morrow it was market-day at Sarrebourg, and Duchêne was to set out at daybreak. Picture to yourself this large kitchen, and all these honest people making haste to finish their work before going to bed; the big black pan smoking on an immense fire made of fir cones, and glowing with crimson heat; the dishes, pots, and porringers shining like suns upon the dresser; the bunches of garlic and golden onions hanging in rows from the brown rafters of the ceiling, among the hams and flitches of bacon; Jeanne, with her bright blue head-dress and short scarlet petticoat, stirring the contents of the pan with a great wooden spoon; large wicker hencoops, with the clucking fowls, and the great red cock thrusting his head between the bars, and watching the fire with a surprised eye, and head twisted on one side; the mastiff, Michel, with flat head and hanging jaws, prowling about in quest of some stray morsel; Dubourg descending the creaking staircase on the left, with bent back, a sack on his shoulder, and his other hand placed archwise on his hip; whilst outside, in the darkness of the night, old Duchêne, standing upright in the cart, holds up his lantern, and calls out:--"That makes the fifteenth, Dubourg; two more." There was also hanging against the wall an old brown hare brought by the huntsman Heinrich to be sold in the market, and a fine grouse, his green and red feathers glistening in the firelight, with glazed eye, and a drop of blood at the tip of his beak. It was about half-past seven when the sound of footsteps was heard in the court-yard. The mastiff went growling towards the door. He listened, sniffed the night air, and then quietly returned to his place by the fire. "It is some one belonging to the farm," said Annette. "Michel does not stir." Directly after, old Duchêne was heard outside, saying, "Good night, Master Jean-Claude. Is it you?"