They separated, and the old huntsman in a pensive mood, and with head bowed down, walked on for a long time, asking himself by what inward power he had been able to prevent himself from breaking the head of the fat innkeeper. He answered that it was, no doubt, from the fear of compromising his sons. All the while musing on these things, Materne met, from time to time, flocks of oxen, sheep, and goats that were being driven into the mountains. There were some coming from Wisch, from Urmatt, and even from Mutzig. The poor beasts seemed ready to drop with fatigue. "Where the deuce are you going in such a hurry?" cried the old huntsman to the dismal-looking shepherds; "have you no confidence, then, in the proclamation of the Russians and Austrians, you fellows?" To which these gloomily replied, "Ah! it's all very well for you to laugh. Proclamations, indeed! We know what they are worth now. We are pillaged of all, robbed of everything; forced contributions are got out of us, and our horses, cows, oxen, and even our vehicles carried off." "Stop! stop! stop! it can't be. What you tell me," said Materne, "quite bewilders me! What, people so brave, so friendly, the saviours of France! I can't believe it. Such a handsome proclamation." "Well, then, come down to Alsace, and you will see. Seeing's believing, they say." The poor fellows went on their way, shaking their heads with an air of profound indignation, while he laughed in his sleeve. The farther Materne continued his route, the greater grew the number of the flocks of cattle; not only were there troops of these, lowing and bleating, but flocks of geese were to be seen as far as the eye could reach, screaming and cackling, dragging themselves along the ground, with flapping wings, and feet half-frozen with the cold. It was a pitiable sight! As he drew near to Schirmeck, it was much worse still; people were flying in crowds, with their large vehicles loaded with barrels, smoked meats, furniture, women, and children, lashing the horses enough to kill them on the spot, as they kept repeating, in doleful tones: "We are lost! the Cossacks are coming!" This cry, "The Cossacks! the Cossacks!" flew from one end of the road to the other like a whirlwind; women turned round, gaping-mouthed, with fear and wonder, and children stood upright in the carts and vehicles to see as far off as they could. Never was anything seen like it; and Materne felt indignant, and blushed for the terror of these people, who might have defended themselves, but for their selfishness and desire to save their property, which drove them to an unworthy flight. At a branch of the road just by Schirmeck, Kasper and Frantz rejoined their father; and they all three entered the "Golden Keg" tavern, kept by the widow Faltaux, to the right of the road. The poor woman and her two daughters were watching from a window the great migration, with tearful eyes and clasped hands.