"Not so, Hullin--not so. If you yourself had heard Yegof--"
"Come, come!" cried the good man. "If I had heard him, I would have laughed at him, as I do now. Do you know that he has demanded the hand of Louise, that he might make her Queen of Austrasia?"
Catherine could not help smiling; but soon resuming her serious air, she said:
"All your reasons, Jean-Claude, cannot convince me; but I confess that Gaspard's silence frightens me. I know my boy, and he has certainly written. Why have his letters not arrived? The war goes ill for us, Hullin; all the world is against us. They want none of our Revolution. While we were the masters, while we crowned victory with victory, they were humble enough, but since the Russian misfortune their tone is far different."
"There, there, Catherine; you are wandering; everything is black to you. What disturbs me most is not receiving any news from without; we are living here as in a country of savages; we know nothing of what is going on abroad. The Austrians or the Cossacks might fall upon us at any moment, and we be taken completely by surprise."
Hullin observed that as he spoke the old woman's look became anxious, and despite himself he felt the influence of the fears she spoke of.
"Listen, Catherine," said he suddenly; "as long as you talk reasonably I shall not gainsay you. You speak now of things that are possible. I do not believe they will attack us, but it is better to set our hearts at ease. I intended going to Phalsbourg this week. I shall set out to-morrow. In such a city--one which is, moreover, a post-station--they should have certain tidings of what is going on. Will you believe the news I bring back?"
"Then it is understood. I will start early to-morrow morning. It is five leagues off. I shall have returned by about six in the evening, and you shall see, Catherine, that your mournful notions lack reason."
"I hope so," said she, rising; "indeed I hope so. You have somewhat reassured me, Jean-Claude, and I may sleep better than I did last night. Good-night, Jean-Claude."
The next morning at daybreak, Hullin, in his gray-cloth Sunday small-clothes, his ample brown velvet coat, his red vest with its copper buttons, his head covered with his mountaineer's slouched hat, the broad brim turned up in front over his ruddy face, took the road to Phalsbourg, a stout staff in his hand.