One of the men having thrown some splinters of dry wood on to the fire, there was a blaze, and by its light were seen Marc Divès's men on horseback, a dozen strapping fellows wrapped in their long grey cloaks, their broad-brimmed hats pushed back on to their shoulders, their thick moustaches either turned up, or falling down to their very necks, grouped motionless around the baggage waggon; a little farther on was Catherine Lefévre, crouching among the packages in her cart, her feet buried in the straw, her back against a large barrel; behind her was a cauldron, a gridiron, a pig fresh killed, scalded, white and red, some ropes of onions, and heads of cabbages to make soup; all this was revealed for an instant in the shadow, and then fell back again into darkness. Divès was a little apart from the convoy, and now rode forward on his great horse. "Is that you, Jean-Claude?" "Yes, Marc." "I've some thousand cartridges here. Hexe-Baizel works day and night." "Good! Good!" "Yes, old boy. And Catherine Lefévre is bringing provisions, too; she killed yesterday. Where shall we put the powder?" "Down below there; under the cart-shed, behind the farm. Ah! is that you, Catherine?" "Yes, Jean-Claude. It is pretty cold this morning." "You are always the same, then; you are afraid of nothing!" "Why, should I be a woman if I were not curious? I must poke my nose into everything." "Yes, you have always excuses to make for whatever you do that is good and right." "Hullin, you are a babbler; have done with your compliments! Must not those people there have something to eat? Can they live on air through the winter? The open air is not very nourishing in such cold weather as this, when it's just like needles and razors! So I took my measures. Yesterday we slaughtered an ox--you know poor Schwartz--he weighed a good nine hundred weight. I've brought his hind-quarters with me to make soup this morning." "Catherine, I shall never come to know you," cried Jean-Claude, quite touched; "you always surprise me. Nothing is too much for you; neither money, nor pains, nor trouble." "Ah!" replied the old woman, rising and jumping out of her cart, "do stop; you bother me, Hullin. I will warm myself." She threw her horse's reins to Dubourg; then turning, said:--"Anyhow, Jean-Claude, those fires are delightful to look at. But Louise, where is she?" "Louise has passed the night in cutting out and sewing bandages, with Pelsly's two daughters. She is at the hospital, down below there, where my light is shining." "Poor child!" said Catherine, "I will run and help her, that will warm me."