Was he jeering? Was he desirous of explaining why he still retained the services of that girl, the cause of his quarrel with his son, and this, despite the child, from whom she refused to be parted? Again did Fouchard give Honoré a sidelong glance, and laugh inwardly as he added, 'Charlot's in there, asleep in her room; so it's certain she won't be very long coming.'
Honoré, whose lips were quivering, gazed so fixedly at his father that the latter again began walking up and down. Then the silence fell once more, whilst the artilleryman, in a mechanical way, cut himself another piece of bread, and went on eating. Jean also continued devouring the bread and cheese without feeling the slightest desire to talk. Maurice, whose hunger was appeased, sat there with his elbows on the table, examining the furniture of the room, the old sideboard and the old clock, and dreaming of the holidays that he and his sister had spent at Remilly in times long past. Thus the minutes went by, and at last the clock struck eleven.
'The devil!' muttered Maurice. 'We mustn't let the others go off.'
Without any opposition on Fouchard's part, he then opened the window. The whole black valley was hollowed out there below, looking, at the first glance, like a sombre rolling sea; but when the eyes had become accustomed to the scene, one could clearly distinguish the bridge, illumined by the fires on both banks. The Cuirassiers were still crossing the river, draped in their long white cloaks, and looking like phantoms whose horses, lashed onward by a blast of terror, seemed to be walking on the water. And the endless, interminable procession continued crawling along, like some vision passing slowly before the eyes. Meantime, on the bare hills on the right, where the troops were slumbering, all was as still and silent as death itself.
'Ah, well!' said Maurice, with a gesture of despair, 'it will be for to-morrow morning.'
He had left the window wide open, and old Fouchard, catching up his gun, sprang over the sill and jumped out with the nimbleness of a young man. For a moment he could be heard marching along with the regular step of a sentinel, and then the only audible sound was that of the commotion on the encumbered bridge far away; doubtless the old peasant had seated himself by the roadside, where he felt more at his ease, since he could there watch for any threatening danger, prepared, if need were, to jump indoors again and defend his house.