LITMIR.BIZ

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ever.

      “Do you know what time your father will be back?” she asked.

      “Oh, not before eleven, for certain. When he dines with the commandant he’s always late.”

      And Berthine was hanging her pot over the fire to warm the soup when she suddenly stood still, listening attentively to a sound that had reached her through the chimney.

      “There are people walking in the wood,” she said; “seven or eight men at least.”

      The terrified old woman stopped her spinning wheel, and gasped:

      “Oh, my God! And your father not here!”

      She had scarcely finished speaking when a succession of violent blows shook the door.

      As the woman made no reply, a loud, guttural voice shouted:

      “Open the door!”

      After a brief silence the same voice repeated:

      “Open the door or I’ll break it down!”

      Berthine took the heavy revolver from its hook, slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, and, putting her ear to the door, asked:

      “Who are you?” demanded the young woman. “What do you want?”.

      “The detachment that came here the other day,” replied the voice.

      “My men and I have lost our way in the forest since morning. Open the door or I’ll break it down!”

      The forester’s daughter had no choice; she shot back the heavy bolts, threw open the ponderous shutter, and perceived in the wan light of the snow six men, six Prussian soldiers, the same who had visited the house the day before.

      “What are you doing here at this time of night?” she asked dauntlessly.

      “I lost my bearings,” replied the officer; “lost them completely. Then I recognized this house. I’ve eaten nothing since morning, nor my men either.”

      “But I’m quite alone with my mother this evening,” said Berthine.

      “Never mind,” replied the soldier, who seemed a decent sort of fellow. “We won’t do you any harm, but you must give us something to eat. We are nearly dead with hunger and fatigue.”

      Then the girl moved aside.

      “Come in;” she said.

      Then entered, covered with snow, their helmets sprinkled with a creamy-looking froth, which gave them the appearance of meringues. They seemed utterly worn out.

      The young woman pointed to the wooden benches on either side of the large table.

      “Sit down,” she said, “and I’ll make you some soup. You certainly look tired out, and no mistake.”

      Then she bolted the door afresh.

      She put more water in the pot, added butter and potatoes; then, taking down a piece of bacon from a hook in the chimney earner, cut it in two and slipped half of it into the pot.

      The six men watched her movements with hungry eyes. They had placed their rifles and helmets in a corner and waited for supper, as well behaved as children on a school bench.

      The old mother had resumed her spinning, casting from time to time a furtive and uneasy glance at the soldiers. Nothing was to be heard save the humming of the wheel, the crackling of the fire, and the singing of the water in the pot.

      But suddenly a strange noise—a sound like the harsh breathing of some wild animal sniffing under the door—startled the occupants of the room.

      The German officer sprang toward the rifles. Berthine stopped him with a gesture, and said, smilingly:

      “It’s only the wolves. They are like you—prowling hungry through the forest.”

      The incredulous man wanted to see with his own eyes, and as soon as the door was opened he perceived two large grayish animals disappearing with long, swinging trot into the darkness.

      He returned to his seat, muttering:

      “I wouldn’t have believed it!”

      And he waited quietly till supper was ready.

      The men devoured their meal voraciously, with mouths stretched to their ears that they might swallow the more. Their round eyes opened at the same time as their jaws, and as the soup coursed down their throats it made a noise like the gurgling of water in a rainpipe.

      The two women watched in silence the movements of the big red beards. The potatoes seemed to be engulfed in these moving fleeces.

      But, as they were thirsty, the forester’s daughter went down to the cellar to draw them some cider. She was gone some time. The cellar was small, with an arched ceiling, and had served, so people said, both as prison and as hiding-place during the Revolution. It was approached by means of a narrow, winding staircase, closed by a trap-door at the farther end of the kitchen.

      When Berthine returned she was smiling mysteriously to herself. She gave the Germans her jug of cider.

      Then she and her mother supped apart, at the other end of the kitchen.

      The soldiers had finished eating, and were all six falling asleep as they sat round the table. Every now and then a forehead fell with a thud on the board, and the man, awakened suddenly, sat upright again.

      Berthine said to the officer:

      “Go and lie down, all of you, round the fire. There’s lots of room for six. I’m going up to my room with my mother.”

      And the two women went upstairs. They could be heard locking the door and walking about overhead for a time; then they were silent.

      The Prussians lay down on the floor, with their feet to the fire and their heads resting on their rolled-up cloaks. Soon all six snored loudly and uninterruptedly in six different keys.

      They had been sleeping for some time when a shot rang out so loudly that it seemed directed against the very wall’s of the house. The soldiers rose hastily. Two—then three—more shots were fired.

      The door opened hastily, and Berthine appeared, barefooted and only half dressed, with her candle in her hand and a scared look on her face.

      “There are the French,” she stammered; “at least two hundred of them. If they find you here they’ll burn the house down. For God’s sake, hurry down into the cellar, and don’t make a sound, whatever you do. If you make any noise we are lost.”

      “We’ll go, we’ll go,” replied the terrified officer. “Which is the way?”

      The young woman hurriedly raised the small, square trap-door, and the six men disappeared one after another down the narrow, winding staircase, feeling their way as they went.

      But as soon as the spike of the out of the last helmet was out of sight Berthine lowered the heavy oaken lid—thick as a wall, hard as steel, furnished with the hinges and bolts of a prison cell—shot the two heavy bolts, and began to laugh long and silently, possessed with a mad longing to dance above the heads of her prisoners.

      They made no sound, inclosed in the cellar as in a strong-box, obtaining air only from a small, iron-barred vent-hole.

      Berthine lighted her fire again, hung the pot over it, and prepared more soup, saying to herself:

      “Father will be tired tonight.”

      Then she sat and waited. The heavy pendulum of the clock swung to and fro with a monotonous tick.

      Every now and then the young woman cast an impatient glance at the dial—a glance which seemed to say:

      “I wish he’d be quick!”

      But soon there was a sound of voices beneath her feet. Low, confused words reached her through the masonry which roofed the cellar. The Prussians were beginning to suspect the

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