He immediately descended the snowy slopes to the little gardens lying above Grandfontaine, which took about ten minutes; he then made his way between two furrows, reached the meadow, and crossed the village square: his two sons, with their arms at their feet, saw him enter the inn. A few seconds after he reappeared on the doorstep and raised his hat. Fifteen minutes later they had rejoined their father in the great room of the "Pineapple." It was a rather low room with a sanded floor, and heated by a large iron stove. Excepting the innkeeper Dubreuil, the biggest and most apoplectic landlord in the Vosges, with immense paunch, round eyes, flat nose, a wart on his left cheek, and a triple chin reaching over his collar--with the exception of this curious individual, seated near the stove in a leather arm-chair, Materne was alone. He had just filled the glasses. The clock was striking nine, and its wooden cock flapped its wing with a peculiar scraping sound. "Good-day, Father Dubreuil," said the two youths in a gruff voice. "Good-day, my brave fellows," replied the innkeeper, trying to smile. Then, in an oily voice, he asked them, "Nothing new?" "Faith, no!" replied Kasper; "here is winter, the time for hunting boars." And they both, putting their carbines in the corner of the window, within reach, in case of attack, passed one leg across the bench, and sat down, facing their father, who was at the head of the table. At the same time they drank, saying, "To our healths!" which they were always very careful to do. "Thus," said Materne, turning to the fat man, as though taking up the threads of an interrupted conversation, "you think, Father Dubreuil, that we have nothing to fear from the wood of Baronies, and that we may hunt boar peaceably?" "Oh, as to that, I know nothing!" exclaimed the innkeeper; "only at present the allies have not passed Mutzig. Besides, they harm no one; they receive all well-disposed people to fight against the usurper." "The usurper? Who is he?" "Why, Napoleon Bonaparte, the usurper, to be sure. Just look at the wall." He pointed to a great placard stuck on the wall, near the clock. "Look at that, and you will see that the Austrians are our true friends." Old Materne's eyebrows nearly met, but, repressing his feelings, "Oh, ah!" said he. "Yes, read that." "But I do not know how to read, Monsieur Dubreuil, nor my boys either. Explain to us what it is." Then the old innkeeper, leaning with his hands on the arms of his chair, arose, breathing like a calf, and placed himself in front of the placard, with his arms folded on his enormous paunch; and in a majestic tone he read a proclamation from the allied sovereigns, declaring "that they made war on Napoleon personally, and not on France. Therefore everybody ought to keep quiet and not meddle in their affairs, under pain of being burnt, pillaged, and shot." The three hunters listened, and looked at each other with a strange air.