ith 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."

"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