Marc Divès, standing in the midst of another group, over which he towered by a whole head, was talking and gesticulating, and pointing sometimes to one point of the mountain, and sometimes to another. Opposite him stood the old shepherd, Lagarmitte, in his long grey smock, his wooden sheep-horn on his shoulder, listening open-mouthed, and from time to time silently bowing his grizzled head. For the most part, all the band seemed attentive; it was principally composed of woodcutters and bargemen, with whom the smuggler was almost daily brought into contact. Between the sawpit and the first fire was seated the shoemaker, Jerôme of Saint-Quirin, a man of about fifty or sixty, with a long face, brown complexion, hollow eyes, big nose, a seal-skin cap pulled over his ears, and his yellow beard descending in a point to his waist. His hands, covered with thick woollen gloves, were leaning on an enormous knotted stick. He wore a long hooded cloak of coarse cloth, and might well have passed for a hermit. Any time a fresh rumour arose in some part or another, old Jerôme turned his head slowly round, and listened intently with knitted brows. Jean Labarbe, with his elbow on his axe, sat passively looking on. He was a man with pale cheeks, aquiline nose, and thin lips. He had great influence over the men of Dagsburg, owing to his firmness and strength of mind. When everyone was shouting around him: "We must deliberate; we can't stay doing nothing here!" he simply confined himself to saying: "Stop, Hullin has not come yet, nor Catherine Lefévre." Then all were silent, and contented themselves with looking eagerly towards the path leading from the Charmes. The _ségare_,[8] Piorette, a little dry, lean, nervous man with black eyebrows meeting in front, the stump of a pipe between his lips, stood in front of his shed, watching, with an eye at once keen and thoughtful, the strange scene around him. The general impatience was, however, increasing from minute to minute. Some village mayors, in square-cut coats and three-cornered hats, proceeded towards the sawpit, and called upon the men of their districts to deliberate. Very luckily, the cart of Catherine Lefévre at length appeared in sight coming along the pathway, and immediately a thousand enthusiastic shouts rose on all sides. "Here they are! here they are! they have come!" There was a great stir and bustle among the crowd. The groups who were at a distance drew near, everyone came running up, and a sort of shudder of impatience seemed to run through the whole vast assembly. No sooner was a distinct view caught of the old farm-mistress, whip in hand, sitting on her truss of straw with Louise by her side, than cries and shouts rent the air of "Vive la France! Hurrah for Dame Catherine!" A little way behind came Hullin, striding along across the meadow of the Eichmath, distributing hearty hand-grips, his broad-brimmed hat at the back of his head, his gun slung over his shoulder.