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At the bottom of the valley of the Bouleaux, about two gun-shots from the village of Charmes, on the left, the little troop began to ascend slowly the footpath of the old _burg_. Hullin, remembering that he had followed the same road when he went to buy powder of Marc Dives, could not help a feeling of deep sadness from stealing over him. Then, in spite of his journey to Phalsbourg, in spite of the spectacle of the wounded of Hanau and of Leipzic, in spite of the old sergeant's recital, he despaired of nothing; he preserved all his energy, and had no fear of the success of the defence. How all was lost: the enemy was descending on Lorraine, the mountaineers were flying. Marc Dives was riding slowly by the side of the wall through the snow; his big horse, accustomed, no doubt, to this journey, kept neighing, tossing up his head, and dropping it down again on his breast, in sudden jerks.
The smuggler turned round in his saddle from time to time, to throw a glance back on the farm of Bois-des-Chenes they were quitting. Suddenly he exclaimed: