this anger might lead him into unguarded speech, once more found his
tongue.

"Wine! I haven't any, not a drop! The others, those fellows of Ducrot's,
ate and drank all I had, robbed me of everything!"

He was lying, and try to conceal it as he might the shifty expression
in his great light eyes showed it. For the past two days he had been
driving away his cattle, as well those reserved for work on the farm as
those he had purchased to slaughter, and hiding them, no one knew where,
in the depths of some wood or in some abandoned quarry, and he had
devoted hours to burying all his household stores, wine, bread, and
things of the least value, even to the flour and salt, so that anyone
might have ransacked his cupboards and been none the richer for it. He
had refused to sell anything to the first soldiers who came along; no
one knew, he might be able to do better later on; and the patient, sly
old curmudgeon indulged himself with vague dreams of wealth.

Maurice, who was first to satisfy his appetite, commenced to talk.

"Have you seen my sister Henriette lately?"

The old man was pacing up and down the room, casting an occasional
glance at Jean, who was bolting huge mouthfuls of bread; after
apparently giving the subject long consideration he deliberately
answered:

"Henriette, yes, I saw her last month when I was in Sedan. But I saw
Weiss, her husband, this morning. He was with Monsieur Delaherche,
his boss, who had come over in his carriage to see the soldiers at
Mouzon--which is the same as saying that they were out for a good time."

An expression of intense scorn flitted over the old peasant's
impenetrable face.

"Perhaps they saw more of the army than they wanted to, and didn't have
such a very good time after all, for ever since three o'clock the roads
have been impassable on account of the crowds of flying soldiers."

In the same unmoved voice, as if the matter were one of perfect
indifference to him, he gave them some tidings of the defeat of the 5th
corps, that had been surprised at Beaumont while the men were making
their soup and chased by the Bavarians all the way to Mouzon. Some
fugitives who had passed through Remilly, mad with terror, had told him
that they had been betrayed once more and that de Failly had sold them
to Bismarck. Maurice's thoughts reverted to the aimless, blundering
movements of the last two days, to Marshal MacMahon hurrying on their
retreat and insisting on getting them acro