. It's out of the question that they should come up
before the arrival of the French troops."

"Good! As long as the Old Mill remains in our hands, they won't be able
to man the heights and threaten Saint-Elophe."

They could plainly see columns of infantry winding along the Col du
Diable. There, they divided and one part of the men turned towards the
Butte-aux-Loups, while the others--consisting of the greater number, for
this was evidently the enemy's object--went down towards the Etang-des
Moines, to seize the high-road.

These disappeared for a moment, hidden by the bend of the ground.

The captain said to Morestal:

"Once the road is held and the assault begins, it will be impossible to
get away.... It would be better, therefore, for the ladies ... and for
you yourself ..."

Morestal gave him such a look that the officer did not insist:

"Come, come," he said, smiling, "don't be angry.... Rather help me to
make these good people understand...."

He turned to the servants, to Victor, who was taking down a rifle, to
the gardener, to Henriot, and warned them that none but combatants must
stay at the Old Mill, as any man captured with arms in his hands exposed
himself to reprisals.

They let him talk; and Victor, without thinking of retiring, answered:

"That's as may be, captain. But it's one of the things one doesn't think
about. I'm staying."

"And you, Farmer Saboureux? You're running a big risk, if they prove
that you set fire to your farm."

"I'm staying," growled the peasant, laconically.

"And you, tramp?"

Old Poussiere had not finished eating the piece of bread which he had
taken from his wallet. He was listening and observing, with eyes wide
open and an evident effort to attend. He examined the captain, his
uniform, the braid upon his sleeve, seemed to reflect on mysterious
things, stood up and seized a rifle.

"That's right, Poussiere," grinned Morestal. "You know your country
right enough, once it needs defending."

A man had made the same movement as the tramp, almost at the same time.
One more division in the gun-rack was empty.

It was Duvauchel, still rather unsteady on his pins, but wearing an
undaunted look.

"What, Duvauchel!" asked Captain Daspry. "Aren't we deserting?"

"You're getting at me, captain! Let the beggars clear out of France
first! I'll desert afterwards."

"But you've only one arm that's any good."

"A greaser's arm, captain ... and a French greaser's at tha