a pool of
blood. A dead body lay near, and then another, and another--death and
slaughter everywhere!

These were French soldiers who had been surprised and shot. Three guns
were fastened together, holding a pot over a fire not yet entirely gone
out.

Jacques was now wild with terror; he wished he were back in the darkness
of the subterranean passage, but still he struggled on for his little
sister's sake. Suddenly he started. Around the neck of a soldier he saw
a cord to which hung a bugle. Jacques made his way to the body. He
extended his arm, then pulled it back, but impelled by the hope of
safety, he at last succeeded in reaching the bugle without touching the
body, but he could not take it away because of the cord. Then Jacques
closed his eyes, and supporting himself on one hand, he placed his lips
to the mouth of the bugle. His face was very near that of the dead
soldier. He remembered the lessons he had received from Simon.

"Tarara! Tarara!"

The sound came rich and full, but the exertion had been too great.

Jacques fainted, and his pale face lay on the stiff, outstretched arm of
the dead soldier.

CHAPTER XII.

THE RISING SUN.

That morning the worthy Schwann, whose ancestors had kept the inn known
as the Rising Sun for one hundred and fifty years, said that in all his
experience he had never been so busy. Three travelers, three guests in
February! It was most amazing. And the worthy innkeeper knew that this
was not all. Six more strangers might arrive at any moment; but when he
was asked who these strangers were, he winked mysteriously, but looked
highly pleased. At the hour when this chapter opens, Master Schwann had
just witnessed a veritable slaughter in his poultry yard; pots and
saucepans were smoking on the fire, and vigorous preparations were made
in the kitchen.

The door was suddenly thrown open, and loud laughter made the windows
rattle. The innkeeper started, but before he could speak, he was lifted
off his feet by the long arms of a vigorous looking young man, with a
most enormous mouth. His costume was something wonderful; a startling
combination of colors; a red coat, a yellow vest trimmed with huge black
buttons, green breeches and long black hose.

"Iron Jaws!" cried the innkeeper, struggling in the grasp of the
Colossus.

"Yes, my best beloved cousin, Iron Jaws it is; let me give you a good
shake of the hand."

"Not too hard!" said Schwann, plaintively.

"You are no