"This cannot last; we shall receive a letter one of these days."
The village clock struck nine; and as Hullin returned to his work, the door opened, and Catherine Lefevre, the mistress of the Bois-de-Chênes farm, appeared on the threshold, to the astonishment of the sabot-maker, for it was not her custom to be abroad at such an hour.
Catherine Lefevre might have been sixty years of age, but her form was straight and erect as at thirty. Her clear, gray eyes and hooked nose seemed to resemble the eyes and beak of the eagle. Her thin cheeks and the drooping corners of her mouth betokened habits of thought, and gave a sad and somewhat bitter expression to her face. A long brown hood covered her head and fell over her shoulders. Her whole appearance bespoke a firm and resolute character, and inspired in the beholder a feeling of respect, not untinged with fear.
"You here, Catherine?" exclaimed Hullin in his surprise.
"Even I, Jean-Claude," replied the old woman calmly. "I wish to speak with you. Is Louise at home?"
"So much the better," said Catherine, seating herself at the corner of the work-bench.
Hullin gazed fixedly at her. There was something mysterious and unusual in her manner which caused in him a vague feeling of alarm.
"What has happened?" he asked, laying aside his hammer.
"Yegof the fool passed last night at the farm."
"He was here this afternoon," said Hullin, who attached no importance to the fact.
"Yes," continued Catherine, in a low tone; "he passed last night with us, and in the evening, at this hour, before the kitchen fire, his words were fearful."
"Fearful!" muttered the sabot-maker, more and more astonished, for he had never before seen the old woman in such a state of alarm. "What did he say, Catherine?"
"He spoke of things which awakened strange dreams."
"No, no," she answered. And then, after a moment of silence, fixing her eyes upon the wondering Hullin, she continued:
"Last evening, our people were seated, after supper, around the fire in the kitchen, and Yegof among them. He had, as usual, regaled us with the history of his treasures and castles. It was about nine o'clock, and the fool sat at the corner of the blazing hearth. Duchene, my laborer, was mending Bruno's saddle; Robin, the herdsman, was making a basket; Annette arranging her dishes on the cupboard; and I spinning before going to bed. Without, the dogs were barking at the moon, and it was bitter cold. We were speaking of the winter, which Duchene said would be severe, for he had seen large flocks of wild geese. The raven, perched on the corner of the chimney-piece, with his beak buried in his ruffled feathers, seemed to sleep."