The farm-people, Duchêne, Annette, Robin, and Dubourg, arranged in a half-circle, watched Gaspard in ecstasies; Louise refilled his glass; the Mother Lefèvre, seated by the stove, got up and went to his knapsack, and, on only finding two old black shirts with holes wide enough to put one's, hand through, with worn-out shoes and a bit of wax for cartridges, a comb with two teeth and an empty bottle, she lifted her hands to heaven and hastening to open the linen chest, saying, "Lord, can one be astonished that so many die of sheer want!" Doctor Lorquin, in presence of such a vigorous appetite, rubbed his hands joyfully, and murmured to himself, "What a sturdy fellow! What a digestion! What a set of teeth! He could crunch pebbles like nuts." And even old Materne said to his sons:--"In other days, after two or three days of hunting in the high mountains in winter, I also used to feel the hunger of a wolf, and to eat a haunch of venison right off: now I am getting old, one or two pounds of meat are sufficient for me---which shows what age does." Hullin had lit his pipe, and seemed in a reverie: evidently something worried him. After a few minutes, seeing that Gaspard's appetite was less lively, he brusquely asked, "Say, then, Gaspard, without interrupting thyself, how the devil hast thou managed to come? We believed that thou wast still on the borders of the Rhine, on the Strasbourg side." "Ah! ah! old soldier, I comprehend," said young Lefèvre, winking. "There are so many deserters, are there not?" "Oh! such an idea would never enter my head, and yet----" "You would not be sorry to know that I had done nothing wrong? I cannot blame you, Papa Jean-Claude: you are right. He who is missing at the roll-call when the 'kaiserlichs' are in France, deserves to be shot. Be composed, here is my leave." Hullin, who possessed no false delicacy, read,--"Leave for twenty-four hours to the grenadier Gaspard Lefèvre, of the 2d of the 1st. This day, 3d January, 1814.--GEMEAU, Head of Battalion." "Good, good," exclaimed he. "Put that carefully in thy knapsack, thou mightest lose it." All his good-humor had returned:--"Do you see, my children, I know what love is? There is both good and bad in it: but it is particularly bad for young soldiers who come too close to their village after a campaign. They are capable of forgetting themselves and of not returning unless in company of two or three gendarmes. I have seen it. But come, since everything is in order, let us drink a glass of 'rikevir.' What say you, Catherine? The men of the Sarre may arrive at any moment, and we have not an instant to lose?" "You are right, Jean-Claude," replied the old farm-mistress sadly. "Annette, go down and bring three bottles from the small cellar." The servant obeyed quickly. "But this leave, Gaspard," continued Catherine--"how long has it lasted?"