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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!"
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!"
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 to-night." Then she sat and waited. The heavy pendulum of the clock swung to and fro with a monotonous tick.
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.
She whistled just as a huntsman would, and almost immediately two great dogs emerged from the darkness, and bounded to her side. She held them tight, and shouted at the top of her voice: "Hullo, father!" A far-off voice replied: "Hullo, Berthine!" She waited a few seconds, then repeated: "Hullo, father!" The voice, nearer now, replied: "Hullo, Berthine!"
Before the door of the forester's dwelling a young woman, her arms bare to the elbow, was chopping wood with a hatchet on a block of stone. She was tall, slender, strong-a true girl of the woods, daughter and wife of a forester. A voice called from within the house: "We are alone to-night, Berthine; you must come in. It is getting dark, and there may be Prussians or wolves about."
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."
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 to-night." Then she sat and waited. The heavy pendulum of the clock swung to and fro with a monotonous tick.
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.
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