Catherine Lefèvre could not restrain a smile; but, regaining almost at once her serious expression--"All your reasonings, Jean-Claude," said she, "cannot convince me; but, I confess it, the silence of Gasper frightens me. I know my son: he would certainly have written to me. Why have his letters never reached me? The war is going on badly, Hullin--we have all the world against us. They don't want our revolution--you know it as well as I do. So long as we were masters, and won victory after victory, they looked kindly on us; but since our Russian misfortunes, things wear a bad aspect." "Là, Là, Catherine, how you get carried away. You see everything gloomily." "Yes, I see everything gloomily, and I am right. What makes me so uneasy is, that we never get any news from the outer world; we live here as in a savage country: one knows of nothing that goes on. The Austrians and the Cossacks could be upon us at any time, and we should be taken by surprise." Hullin observed the old dame, whose expression was very animated; and even he began to be influenced by the same fears. "Listen, Catherine," said he, suddenly. "When you speak in a reasonable manner, it is not I who would say anything against it. All you now tell me is possible. I do not believe in it; but one might as well make sure. I had intended to go to Phalsbourg in a week, to buy sheepskins for trimming some shoes: I will go to-morrow. At Phalsbourg, a garrison and post town, there must be some reliable news. Will you believe those I shall bring you on my return from that place?" "Yes." "Good; it is then arranged. I shall leave to-morrow early. There are five leagues in all. I shall return about six o'clock. You will see, Catherine, that all your dismal ideas have no sense in them." "I hope so," she replied, rising. "I hope so. You have somewhat reassured me, Hullin. Now I will go to the farm, and may I sleep better than I did last night. Good-night, Jean-Claude." CHAPTER III AT PHALSBOURG The next day at dawn, Hullin, wearing his blue cloth Sunday breeches, his large brown velvet jacket and red waistcoat with brass buttons, and a broad beaver mountaineer's hat turned up like a cockade above his ruddy face--started on his way to Phalsbourg, a stout stick in his hand.