"Then, Hullin," said the old woman, "the fool sang a long ballad--the plaint of the old man chained to his gate. It was sad, sad as the _Miserere_. It chilled our very blood. But he laughed until old Duchene, in a transport of rage, threw himself upon him to strangle him; but the fool is strong, and hurled him back. Then brandishing his sceptre furiously, he shouted:
"'To your knees, slaves! to your knees! My armies are advancing. The earth trembles beneath them. Nideck, Haut-Barr, Dagsberg, Turkestein, will again tower above you. To your knees!'
"Never did I gaze upon a more fearful figure; but seeing my people about to fall upon him, I interposed in his defence. 'He is but a fool,' I cried. 'Are you not ashamed to mind his words?' This quieted them, but I could not close my eyes the entire night. His story--the song of the old man--rang through my ears, and seemed mingled with the barking of our dogs and the din of combat. Hullin, what think you of it? I cannot banish his threats from my mind!"
"I should think," said the sabot-maker, with a look of pity not unmixed with a sort of sorrowful sarcasm--"I should think, Catherine, if I did not know you so well, that you were losing your senses--you and Duchene and Robin and all the rest."
"You do not understand these matters," said the old woman in a calm and grave tone; "but were you never troubled by things of like nature?"
"Do you mean that you believe this nonsense of Yegof?"
"You believe it! You, Catherine Lefevre! If it was Mother Rochart, I would say nothing; but you--!"
He arose as if angry, untied his apron, shrugged his shoulders, and then suddenly, again seating himself, exclaimed:
"Do you know who this fool is? I will tell you. He is one of those German schoolmasters who turn old women's heads with their Mother Goose stories; whose brains are cracked with overmuch study, and who take their visions for actual events--their crazy fancies for reality. I always looked upon Yegof as one of them. Remember the mass of names he knows; he talks of Brittany and Austrasia--of Polynesia and Nideck and the banks of the Rhine, and so gives an air of probability to his vagaries. In ordinary times, Catherine, you would think as I do; but your mind is troubled at receiving no news from Gaspard, and the rumors of war and invasion which are flying around distract you; you do not sleep, and you look upon the sickly fancies of a poor fool as gospel truth."