"For my part," said the big smuggler, "I never saw such a farce before. Ha, ha, ha! if I lived a thousand years, I should laugh at it still." Then he became more serious, and exclaimed: "All the same, Yégof is the cause of this. One must be blind not to see that it was he who led the Germans to the Blutfeld. I shall be sorry if he has been struck down by a piece of my wagon; I have something better in store for him than that. All that I wish is that he may keep in good health till we meet somewhere in a lonely corner of the wood. It is no matter whether it be in one year, ten years, twenty years, provided only that we meet. The longer it is deferred, the more savage my determination becomes: the daintiest morsels are eaten cold, like a boar's head in white wine." He said this with an air of good-humor, but those who knew him perceived beneath it a serious danger for Yégof. Half an hour later, they all reached the plateau on which the farm of Bois-de-Chênes was situated. CHAPTER XXI "ALL IS LOST" Jérome of St. Quirin had managed to make good his retreat to the farm, and since midnight he had occupied the plateau. "Who goes there?" cried his sentinels as the escort approached. "It is we, from the village of Charmes," shouted Marc, in his stentorian voice. The sentinels approached to examine them, and then they passed on their way. The farm was silent; a sentry, his musket over his arm, was pacing before the granary, where about thirty partisans were asleep upon the straw. At the sight of these great dark roofs, the stables and outhouses belonging to the old building where she had spent her youth, where her father and grandfather had led their tranquil laborious lives in peace, and which she was now about to abandon, perhaps forever, Catherine felt a terrible wrenching at her heart; but no word escaped her. Springing from the sledge, as in other days when she returned from marketing, she said: "Come, Louise, here we are at home, thank God." Old Duchêne pushed open the door, exclaiming: "Is that you, Madame Lefèvre?" "Yes, it is I. Any news from Jean-Claude?" "No, Madame." They entered the large kitchen. Some cinders were still smouldering on the hearth, and in the dark, under the broad chimney, was sitting Jérome of St. Quirin, with his big horsehair hood, his great stick between his knees, and his carbine leaning against the wall. "Good-day, Jérome," said the old farm-wife. "Good-day, Catherine," replied the grave chief of the Grosmann. "Have you come from the Donon?" "Yes: things are going badly, my poor Jérome. The 'kaiserlichs' were attacking the farm when we left the plateau. Nothing but white uniforms was to be seen on every side. They were already beginning to cross the breastworks." "Then you think Hullin will be compelled to abandon the road?" "Possibly, if Piorette does not come to his assistance."