And she was about to put her saucepan over the fire to make the soup, when she stopped short, listening to a vague noise that seemed to come through the chimney.
She murmured: “There is somebody walking through the woods, as many as seven or eight men, at least.”
The mother, frightened, stopped her spinning, stammering:
“Oh! Lord-’a-mercy! and your father is not here yet.”
She had not finished speaking when violent blows made the door tremble. As the women did not respond, a strong guttural voice cried:
“Oben!” Then after a silence, the same voice continued: “Oben, or I will preak the door.”
Then Berthine slid into the pocket of her skirt the great revolver and, having placed her ear against the crack of the door, asked:
“Who are you?”
The voice responded: “I am the tetachment of the other day.”
The young woman asked: “What is it you wish?”
“I am lost since this morning in the woods, with my tetachment. Oben, or I preak the door down.”
The forest woman had no choice; she quickly slipped the great bolt, then drawing back the heavy folding door, she perceived in the pale light of the snow six men, Prussian soldiers, the same that were there the day before. In a resolute tone she asked:
“Why have you come here at this hour?”
The sub-officer answered: “I am lost, entirely lost, and I regognized the house. I have had nothing to eat since morning, no more has my tetachment.”
Berthine declared: “It happens that I am all alone with my mother this evening.”
The soldier, who appeared to be an honest fellow, answered: “That is no matter. I shall do no harm, but you will gif us something to eat. We are dying of hunger and fatigue.”
The woman of the forest drew back, saying: “Enter.”
They entered, powdered with snow, carrying on their helmets a kind of creamy moss, which made them look as if covered with meringue. They seemed weary and exhausted.
The young woman showed them wooden benches beside the large table. “Sit down,” she said, “it is true that you are worn out. I am going to make soup for you.”
Then she replaced the bolts of the door. Again she took up the saucepan, threw in some butter and some potatoes, then taking down a piece of bacon that hung in the chimney, she cut off half and plunged it into the water.
The six men followed every motion, with an awakened hunger in their eyes. They had placed their guns and their helmets in the corner, and were waiting, with as wise a look as children on school benches.
The mother began to spin again, casting every moment a look at the invaders. Nothing could be heard the but light rumble of the wheel and the crackling of the fire and the murmur of the boiling water.
But suddenly a strange noise made them all tremble, something like a raucous breath under the door, strong and wheezing. The German officer made a bound for his gun. The forester’s daughter stopped him with a gesture, smiling: “It is the wolves,” said she. “They are hungry like you, they are wandering around and are hungry.”
The man, incredulous, wished to see for himself, and as soon as the outer door was opened, he perceived two great gray beasts running away at a rapid trot. He returned, and murmured as he sat down:
“I would not haf pelieved it.” And he waited till his supper was ready.
They ate voraciously, with mouths open to the ears in order to swallow more at a time, their round eyes opening wide in unison with the jaw, and a noise in their throats like the gurgling in a rainspout.
The two silent women watched the rapid movements of their great red beards, the potatoes having the appearance of forcing themselves into the moving fleece. And as they were thirsty, the daughter of the forest descended to the cellar to draw some cider. She was there a long time. It was a little arched cave which, during the Revolution, was said to have served as a prison and a place of concealment. It was reached by means of a flight of steep steps which closed with a trapdoor at the end of the kitchen.
When Berthine reappeared, she laughed to herself with a sly air. And she gave to the Germans her pitcher of drink. Then she ate her supper, with her mother, at the other end of the kitchen.
The soldiers had finished eating and were asleep, all six of them, about the table. From time to time, a head would fall upon the board with a heavy sound, then the man, brusquely awakened, would sit up again.
Berthine said to the officer, “Lie down before the fire, pray, there is room enough there for six. As for me, I shall climb up to my room with my mother.”
And the two women mounted to the loft. They were heard locking the door and walking about for some time; then there was no more sound.
The Prussians stretched out upon the floor, feet to the fire, their heads supported by their knapsacks, and soon were snoring, all six of them, in six different tones, weak or sonorous, but continued and formidable.
They must have been asleep a long time when a gunshot resounded, so powerful that one would believe it had been fired into the walls of the house. The soldiers were on their feet in an instant. Again two shots were heard, followed by three others.
The door at the staircase opened suddenly and the forester’s daughter appeared, barefooted, in a chemise and a short petticoat, a candle in her hand, with an air of fright.
“Here are the French,” she stammered, “at least two hundred of them. If they find you here they will burn the house. Go down into the cellar quickly, and make no noise. If you make any noise, we are lost.”
The officer, much frightened, murmured: “I will so, I will so, but where can we descend?”
The young woman
