"Stuff! splendid and well done!" sharply retorted the old woman; "it is only natural that I should avenge myself! These Austrians, these Prussians, these red men, who have already half destroyed us--well! I would pay them back. I hate them, father to son. Now, you see! Buy the powder; and this wandering beggar, this fool shall see if we will rebuild his castles!" Hullin then perceived that she was still brooding over Yégof's stories; but seeing how exasperated she was, and that, besides, her having this notion contributed to the defence of the country, he made no remark on this subject, and simply said: "Then, Catherine, it's agreed that I go to Divès to-morrow?" "Yes: you will buy all his powder and his bullets. Some one must also go the round of all the villages in the mountain, to warn the people of what is going on, and arrange a signal with them for assembling in case of attack." "Make your mind easy," said Jean-Claude; "I will undertake that, too." They had both risen, and were proceeding towards the door. For the last half-hour the sounds in the kitchen had ceased: the farm people had gone to bed. The old woman placed her lamp in a corner of the hearth, and drew the bolts. Out of doors, it was cold and sharp, the air calm and clear. All the tops of the surrounding trees and the dark firs of the Jägerthal stood out against the sky in dark or luminous masses. Far off in the distance the shrill yelp of a fox resounded in the valley of the Blanru. "Good night, Hullin," said Dame Lefévre. "Good night, Catherine." Jean-Claude rapidly descended the steep hill, and the farm-mistress, after having looked after him for a second, went in and shut the door. I leave you to imagine the joy of Louise, when she learnt that Gaspard was safe and sound. The poor child, for the last two months, could hardly be said to have lived. Hullin was very careful not to show her the dark cloud that was slowly, but surely, moving towards them. All the night long he could hear her prattling to herself in her little room, talking low, as if congratulating herself upon her happiness, murmuring the name of Gaspard, and opening her drawers, her boxes; no doubt in search of some of her treasures to which she might whisper of her love. Thus the little bird, who has been drenched by the storm, while still shivering with cold and wet, begins to sing and to hop from branch to branch at the faint glimmer of sunshine. [Illustration] CHAPTER V