The Guy de Maupassant MEGAPACK ®. Guy de Maupassant

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СКАЧАТЬ both dead. I gave their names; they saw that I knew them, and I begged to be allowed to arrange their funeral.

      “Somebody has already undertaken it,” was the reply. “Go in if you wish to, as you know them. You can settle about their funeral with their friend.”

      I went in. The captain and his wife were lying side by side on a bed, and were covered by a sheet. I raised it, and saw that the woman had inflicted a similar wound in her throat to that from which her husband had died.

      At the side of the bed there sat, watching and weeping, the woman who had been mentioned to me as their best friend. It was the lancer’s wife.

      THE PRISONERS

      There was not a sound in the forest save the indistinct, fluttering sound of the snow falling on the trees. It had been snowing since noon; a little fine snow, that covered the branches as with frozen moss, and spread a silvery covering over the dead leaves in the ditches, and covered the roads with a white, yielding carpet, and made still more intense the boundless silence of this ocean of trees.

      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 tonight, Berthine; you must come in. It is getting dark, and there may be Prussians or wolves about.”

      “I’ve just finished, mother,” replied the young woman, splitting as she spoke an immense log of wood with strong, deft blows, which expanded her chest each time she raised her arms to strike. “Here I am; there’s no need to be afraid; it’s quite light still.”

      Then she gathered up her sticks and logs, piled them in the chimney corner, went back to close the great oaken shutters, and finally came in, drawing behind her the heavy bolts of the door.

      Her mother, a wrinkled old woman whom age had rendered timid, was spinning by the fireside.

      “I am uneasy,” she said, “when your father’s not here. Two women are not much good.”

      “Oh,” said the younger woman, “I’d cheerfully kill a wolf or a Prussian if it came to that.”

      And she glanced at a heavy revolver hanging above the hearth.

      Her husband had been called upon to serve in the army at the beginning of the Prussian invasion, and the two women had remained alone with the old father, a keeper named Nicolas Pichon, sometimes called Long-legs, who refused obstinately to leave his home and take refuge in the town.

      This town was Rethel, an ancient stronghold built on a rock. Its inhabitants were patriotic, and had made up their minds to resist the invaders, to fortify their native place, and, if need be, to stand a siege as in the good old days. Twice already, under Henri IV and under Louis XIV, the people of Rethel had distinguished themselves by their heroic defence of their town. They would do as much now, by gad! or else be slaughtered within their own walls.

      They had, therefore, bought cannon and rifles, organized a militia, and formed themselves into battalions and companies, and now spent their time drilling all day long in the square. All—bakers, grocers, butchers, lawyers, carpenters, booksellers, chemists—took their turn at military training at regular hours of the day, under the auspices of Monsieur Lavigne, a former noncommissioned officer in the dragoons, now a draper, having married the daughter and inherited the business of Monsieur Ravaudan, Senior.

      He had taken the rank of commanding officer in Rethel, and, seeing that all the young men had gone off to the war, he had enlisted all the others who were in favor of resisting an attack. Fat men now invariably walked the streets at a rapid pace, to reduce their weight and improve their breathing, and weak men carried weights to strengthen their muscles.

      And they awaited the Prussians. But the Prussians did not appear. They were not far off, however, for twice already their scouts had penetrated as far as the forest dwelling of Nicolas Pichon, called Long-legs.

      The old keeper, who could run like a fox, had come and warned the town. The guns had been got ready, but the enemy had not shown themselves.

      Long-legs’ dwelling served as an outpost in the Aveline forest. Twice a week the old man went to the town for provisions and brought the citizens news of the outlying district.

      On this particular day he had gone to announce the fact that a small detachment of German infantry had halted at his house the day before, about two o’clock in the afternoon, and had left again almost immediately. The noncommissioned officer in charge spoke French.

      When the old man set out like this he took with him his dogs—two powerful animals with the jaws of lions—as a safeguard against the wolves, which were beginning to get fierce, and he left directions with the two women to barricade themselves securely within their dwelling as soon as night fell.

      The younger feared nothing, but her mother was always apprehensive, and repeated continually:

      “We’ll come to grief one of these days. You see if we don’t!”

      This evening she was, if possible, more nervous than 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 СКАЧАТЬ