Now on a certain day, towards the middle of the month of December, 1813, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, Hullin, squatted on his bench, was busily engaged in finishing off a pair of iron-bound sabots for the wood-cutter, Rochart. Louise had just placed a little earthen pipkin on the brazen stove, the fire in which was crackling and roaring with a plaintive sound, while the old clock marked the seconds with its monotonous tick. Outside, all along the street, were to be seen pools of water covered with a thin white coating of ice, showing that winter was near at hand. At intervals was heard the sound of thick sabots on the hard ground, and then a felt hat, a hood, or a white cap would go by, and all would be still again, the silence only broken by the gentle hum of Louise's spinning-wheel, and the singing of the _marmite_ on the stove. This had lasted for about two hours, when Hullin, happening to cast a glance through the little glazed window-panes, suddenly left off working, and remained staring with his eyes wide open as if struck by an unusual sight. In fact, at the turning of the street, just opposite the inn of the "Three Pigeons," there was seen coming, in the midst of a troop of urchins, whistling, hooting, leaping, and yelling--"The King of Diamonds! the King of Diamonds!"--there was seen coming, I say, the strangest figure it is possible to imagine. Just picture to yourself a man with red hair and beard, a grave face, sullen eye, straight nose, his eyebrows joined in the middle of his forehead, a circlet of tin on his head; a long-haired, iron-gray sheepskin floating from his back, the two fore-paws of which formed the fastening around his neck; a number of little copper crosses hanging like charms on his breast; his legs encased in a sort of drawers made of gray cloth, fastened above the ankle, and his feet bare. An enormous raven, his coal-black wings relieved by a few feathers of dazzling whiteness, was perched upon his shoulder. At first sight of him, and his stately presence, you would have thought him one of those ancient Merovingian kings depicted in the paintings of Montbéliard; he held in his left hand a short thick stick, cut in the form of a sceptre, and with his right hand he made fantastic gestures, raising his finger to heaven, and seeming to address his suite. Every door flew open as he passed--curious faces were pressed against every window-pane. Some old women, from the outer steps of the doors, called to the madman, who did not deign to turn aside his head; others came down into the street, and tried to bar his way, but he, with head erect and raised eyebrow, with a gesture and a word, forced them to stand aside. "See," said Hullin, "here is Yégof. I did not expect to see him again this winter. It is not his usual custom. What the devil can bring him back in such weather as this?"