There was not a sound in the forest save the indistinct, fluttering sound of the snow falling on the trees. It had been snowing since noon; a little fine snow, that covered the branches as with frozen moss, and spread a silvery covering over the dead leaves in the ditches, and covered the roads with a white, yielding carpet, and made still more intense the boundless silence of this ocean of trees.

Before the door of the forester's dwelling a young woman, her arms bare to the elbow, was chopping wood with 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 enlisted all the others who were in favor of resisting an attack. Fat men now invariably walked the streets at a rapid pace, to reduce their weight and improve their breathing, and weak men carried weights to strengthen their muscles.

And they awaited the Prussians. But the Prussians did not appear. They were not far off, however, for twice already their scouts had penetrated as far as the forest dwelling of Nicolas Pichon, called Long-legs.

The old keeper, who could run like a fox, had come and warned the town. The guns had been got ready, but the enemy had not shown themselves.

Long-legs' dwelling served as an outpost in the Aveline forest. Twice a week the old man went to the town for provisions and brought the citizens news of the outlying district.

On this particular day he had gone to announce the fact that a small detachment of German infantry had halted at his house the day before, about two o'clock in the afternoon, and had left again almost immediately. The noncommissioned officer in charge spoke French.

When the old man set out like this he took with him his dogs—two powerful animals with the jaws of lions—as a safeguard against the wolves, which were beginning to get fierce in this season, and he left directions with the two women to barricade themselves securely within their dwelling as soon as night fell.

The younger feared nothing, but her mother was always apprehensive, and repeated continually: “We'll come to grief one of these days. You see if we don't!”

This evening she was more nervous than ever. “Do you know what time your father will be back?” she asked.

“Oh, not before eleven, for certain. When he dines with the commandant he's always late.”

And Berthine was hanging her pot over the fire to warm the soup when she suddenly stood still, listening attentively to a sound that had reached her through the chimney. “There are people walking in the wood,” she said; “seven or eight men at least.”

The terrified old woman stopped her spinning wheel, and gasped: “Oh, my God! And your father not here!”

She had scarcely finished speaking when a succession of violent blows shook the door.

As the women made no reply, a loud, guttural voice shouted: “Open the door!”

After a brief silence the same voice repeated: “Open the door or I'll break it down!”

Berthine took the heavy revolver from its hook, slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, and, putting her ear to the door. “Who are you?” demanded the young woman. “What do you want?”

“The detachment that came here the other day,” replied the voice. “My men and I have lost our way in the forest since morning. Open the door or I'll break it down!”

The forester's daughter had no choice; she shot back the heavy bolts, threw open the ponderous shutter, and perceived in the wan light of the snow six men, six Prussian soldiers, the same who had visited the house the day before.

“What are you doing here at this time of night?” she asked dauntlessly.

“I lost my bearings,” replied the officer; “lost them completely. Then I recognized this house. I've eaten nothing since morning, nor my men either.”

“But I'm quite alone with my mother this evening,” said Berthine.

“Never mind,” replied the soldier, who seemed a decent sort of fellow. “We won't do you any harm, but you must give us something to eat. We are nearly dead with hunger and fatigue.”

Then the girl moved aside. “Come in;” she said.

They entered, covered with snow, their helmets sprinkled with a creamy-looking froth, which gave them the appearance of meringues. They seemed utterly worn out.

The young woman pointed to the wooden benches on either side of the large table.“Sit down,” she said, “and I'll make you some soup. You certainly look tired out, and no mistake.”Then she bolted the door afresh. She put more water in the pot, added butter and potatoes; then, taking down a piece of bacon from a hook in the chimney corner, cut it in two and slipped half of it into the pot.

The six men watched her movements with hungry eyes. They had placed their rifles and helmets in a corner and waited for supper, as well behaved as children on a school bench.

The old mother had resumed her spinning, casting from time to time a furtive and uneasy glance at the soldiers. Nothing was to be heard save the humming of the wheel, the crackling of the fire, and the singing of the water in the pot.

But suddenly a strange noise—a sound like the harsh breathing of some wild animal sniffing under the door—startled the occupants of the room.

The German officer sprang toward the rifles. Berthine stopped him with a gesture, and said, smilingly: “It's only the wolves. They are like you—prowling hungry through the forest.”

The incredulous man wanted to see with his own eyes, and as soon as the door was opened he perceived two large grayish animals disappearing with long, swinging trot into the darkness.

He returned to his seat, muttering: “I wouldn't have believed it!”

And he waited quietly till supper was ready.

The men devoured their meal voraciously, with mouths stretched to their ears that they might swallow the more. Their round eyes opened at the same time as their jaws, and as the soup coursed down their throats it made a noise like the gurgling of water in a rainpipe.

The two women watched in silence the movements of the big red beards. The potatoes seemed to be engulfed in these moving fleeces.

But, as they were thirsty, the forester's daughter went down to the cellar to draw them some cider. She was gone some time. The cellar was small, with an arched ceiling, and had served, so people said, both as prison and as hiding-place during the Revolution. It was approached by means of a narrow, winding staircase, closed by a trap-door at the farther end of the kitchen.

When Berthine returned she was smiling mysteriously to herself. She gave the Germans her jug of cider. Then she and her mother supped apart, at the other end of the kitchen.

The soldiers had finished eating, and were all six falling asleep as they sat round the table. Every now and then a forehead fell with a thud on the board, and the man, awakened suddenly, sat upright again.

Berthine said to the officer: “Go and lie down, all of you, round the fire. There's lots of room for six. I'm going up to my room with my mother.”

And the two women went upstairs. They could be heard locking the door and walking about overhead for a time; then they were silent.

The Prussians lay down on the floor, with their feet to the fire and their heads resting on their rolled-up cloaks. Soon all six snored loudly and uninterruptedly in six different keys.

They had been sleeping for some time when a shot rang out so loudly that it seemed directed against the very wall's of the house. The soldiers rose hastily. Two—then three—more shots were fired.

The door opened hastily, and Berthine appeared, barefooted and only half dressed, with her candle in her hand and a scared look on her face.

“There are the French,” she stammered; “at least two hundred of them. If they find you here they'll burn the house down. For God's sake, hurry down into the cellar, and don't make a sound, whatever you do. If you make any noise we are lost.”

“We'll go, we'll go,” replied the terrified officer. “Which is the way?”

The young woman hurriedly raised the small, square trap-door, and the six men disappeared one after another down the narrow, winding staircase, feeling their way as they went.

But as soon as the spike of the out of the last helmet was out of sight Berthine lowered the heavy oaken lid—thick as a wall, hard as steel, furnished with the hinges and bolts of a prison cell—shot the two heavy bolts, and began to laugh long and silently, possessed with a mad longing to dance above the heads of her prisoners.

They made no sound, inclosed in the cellar as in a strong-box, obtaining air only from a small, iron-barred vent-hole.

Berthine lighted her fire again, hung the pot over it, and prepared more soup, saying to herself: “Father will be tired to-night.”

Then she sat and waited. The heavy pendulum of the clock swung to and fro with a monotonous tick.

Every now and then the young woman cast an impatient glance at the dial—a glance which seemed to say: “I wish he'd be quick!”

But soon there was a sound of voices beneath her feet. Low, confused words reached her through the masonry which roofed the cellar. The Prussians were beginning to suspect the trick she had played them, and presently the officer came up the narrow staircase, and knocked at the trap-door. “Open the door!” he cried.

“What do you want?” she said, rising from her seat and approaching the cellarway.

“Open the door!”

“I won't do any such thing!”

“Open it or I'll break it down!” shouted the man angrily.

She laughed. “Hammer away, my good man! Hammer away!”

He struck with the butt-end of his gun at the closed oaken door. But it would have resisted a battering-ram.

The forester's daughter heard him go down the stairs again. Then the soldierscame one after another and tried their strength against the trap-door. But, finding their efforts useless, they all returned to the cellar and began to talk among themselves.

The young woman heard them for a short time, then she rose, opened the door of the house; looked out into the night, and listened.

A sound of distant barking reached her ear. She whistled just as a huntsman would, and almost immediately two great dogs emerged from the darkness, and bounded to her side. She held them tight, and shouted at the top of her voice: “Hullo, father!”

A far-off voice replied: “Hullo, Berthine!”

She waited a few seconds, then repeated: “Hullo, father!”

The voice, nearer now, replied: “Hullo, Berthine!”

“Don't go in front of the vent-hole!” shouted his daughter. “There are Prussians in the cellar!”

Suddenly the man's tall figure could be seen to the left, standing between two tree trunks. “Prussians in the cellar?” he asked anxiously. “What are they doing?”

The young woman laughed. “They are the same as were here yesterday. They lost their way, and I've given them free lodgings in the cellar.”She told the story of how she had alarmed them by firing the revolver, and had shut them up in the cellar.

The man, still serious, asked: “But what am I to do with them at this time of night?”

“Go and fetch Monsieur Lavigne with his men,” she replied. “He'll take them prisoners. He'll be delighted.”

Her father smiled. “So he will be delighted.”

“Here's some soup for you,” said his daughter. “Eat it quick, and then be off.”

The old keeper sat down at the table, and began to eat his soup, having first filled two plates and put them on the floor for the dogs.

The Prussians, hearing voices, were silent.

Long-legs set off a quarter of an hour later, and Berthine, with her head between her hands, waited.

The prisoners began to make themselves heard again. They shouted, called, and beat furiously with the butts of their muskets against the rigid trap-door of the cellar. Then they fired shots through the vent-hole, hoping, no doubt, to be heard by any German detachment which chanced to be passing that way.

The forester's daughter did not stir, but the noise irritated and unnerved her. Blind anger rose in her heart against the prisoners; she would have been only too glad to kill them all, and so silence them. Then, as her impatience grew, she watched the clock, counting the minutes as they passed.

Her father had been gone an hour and a half. He must have reached the town by now. She conjured up a vision of him telling the story to Monsieur Lavigne, who grew pale with emotion, and rang for his servant to bring him his arms and uniform. She fancied she could hear the drum as it sounded the call to arms. Frightened faces appeared at the windows. The citizen-soldiers emerged from their houses half dressed, out of breath, buckling on their belts, and hurrying to the commandant's house.

Then the troop of soldiers, with Long-legs at its head, set forth through the night and the snow toward the forest.

She looked at the clock. “They may be here in an hour.”A nervous impatience possessed her. The minutes seemed interminable. Would the time never come?

At last the clock marked the moment she had fixed on for their arrival. And she opened the door to listen for their approach. She perceived a shadowy form creeping toward the house. She was afraid, and cried out. But it was her father.

“They have sent me,” he said, “to see if there is any change in the state of affairs.”

“No—none.”

Then he gave a shrill whistle. Soon a dark mass loomed up under the trees; the advance guard, composed of ten men.

“Don't go in front of the vent-hole!” repeated Long-legs at intervals.

And the first arrivals pointed out the much-dreaded vent-hole to those who came after.

At last the main body of the troop arrived, in all two hundred men, each carrying two hundred cartridges.

Monsieur Lavigne, in a state of intense excitement, posted them in such a fashion as to surround the whole house, save for a large space left vacant in front of the little hole on a level with the ground, through which the cellar derived its supply of air.

Monsieur Lavigne struck the trap-door a blow with his foot, and called: “I wish to speak to the Prussian officer!”

The German did not reply.

“The Prussian officer!” again shouted the commandant.

Still no response. For the space of twenty minutes Monsieur Lavigne called on this silent officer to surrender with bag and baggage, promising him that all lives should be spared, and that he and his men should be accorded military honors. But he could extort no sign, either of consent or of defiance. The situation became a puzzling one.

The citizen-soldiers kicked their heels in the snow, slapping their arms across their chest, as cabdrivers do, to warm themselves, and gazing at the vent-hole with a growing and childish desire to pass in front of it.

At last one of them took the risk—a man named Potdevin, who was fleet of limb. He ran like a deer across the zone of danger. The experiment succeeded. The prisoners gave no sign of life.

A voice cried: “There's no one there!”

And another soldier crossed the open space before the dangerous vent-hole. Then this hazardous sport developed into a game. Every minute a man ran swiftly from one side to the other, like a boy playing baseball, kicking up the snow behind him as he ran. They had lighted big fires of dead wood at which to warm themselves, and the figures of the runners were illumined by the flames as they passed rapidly from the camp on the right to that on the left.

Some one shouted: “It's your turn now, Maloison.”

Maloison was a fat baker, whose corpulent person served to point many a joke among his comrades.

He hesitated. They chaffed him. Then, nerving himself to the effort, he set off at a little, waddling gait, which shook his fat paunch and made the whole detachment laugh till they cried.

“Bravo, bravo, Maloison!” they shouted for his encouragement.

He had accomplished about two-thirds of his journey when a long, crimson flame shot forth from the vent-hole. A loud report followed, and the fat baker fell, face forward to the ground, uttering a frightful scream.

No one went to his assistance. Then he was seen to drag himself, groaning, on all fours through the snow until he was beyond danger, when he fainted.

He was shot in the upper part of the thigh.

After the first surprise and fright were over they laughed at him again.

But Monsieur Lavigne appeared on the threshold of the forester's dwelling. He had formed his plan of attack. He called in a loud voice “I want Planchut, the plumber, and his workmen.”

Three men approached.

“Take the eavestroughs from the roof.”

In a quarter of an hour they brought the commandant thirty yards of pipes.

Next, with infinite precaution, he had a small round hole drilled in the trap-door; then, making a conduit with the troughs from the pump to this opening, he said, with an air of extreme satisfaction, “Now we'll give these German gentlemen something to drink.”

A shout of frenzied admiration, mingled with uproarious laughter, burst from his followers. And the commandant organized relays of men, who were to relieve one another every five minutes. Then he commanded: “Pump!”

And, the pump handle having been set in motion, a stream of water trickled throughout the length of the piping, and flowed from step to step down the cellar stairs with a gentle, gurgling sound.

They waited.

An hour passed, then two, then three.

The commandant, in a state of feverish agitation, walked up and down the kitchen, putting his ear to the ground every now and then to discover, if possible, what the enemy were doing and whether they would soon capitulate.

The enemy was astir now. They could be heard moving the casks about, talking, splashing through the water.

Then, about eight o'clock in the morning, a voice came from the vent-hole, “I want to speak to the French officer.”

Lavigne replied from the window, taking care not to put his head out too far: “Do you surrender?”

“I surrender.”

“Then put your rifles outside.”

A rifle immediately protruded from the hole, and fell into the snow, then another and another, until all were disposed of. And the voice which had spoken before said: “I have no more. Be quick! I am drowned.”

“Stop pumping!” ordered the commandant.

And the pump handle hung motionless.

Then, having filled the kitchen with armed and waiting soldiers, he slowly raised the oaken trap-door.

Four heads appeared, soaking wet, four fair heads with long, sandy hair, and one after another the six Germans emerged—scared, shivering and dripping from head to foot.

They were seized and bound. Then, as the French feared a surprise, they set off at once in two convoys, one in charge of the prisoners, and the other conducting Maloison on a mattress borne on poles.

They made a triumphal entry into Rethel.

Monsieur Lavigne was decorated as a reward for having captured a Prussian advance guard, and the fat baker received the military medal for wounds received at the hands of the enemy.

除了雪落在樹上的輕微顫動聲之外，森林里沒有一點聲音。雪從中午起就一直下著；細細的小雪落在樹枝上，樹枝就像覆蓋了一層冰凍的苔蘚似的，給坑洼里的枯葉普遍蓋上了一層銀被，給道路鋪上了一層雪白柔軟的地毯，使這無邊無際的茫茫林海越發沉寂了。

在看林人的房門前，一個露出胳膊肘的年輕女人正用斧頭在一塊石頭上劈柴。她高大、苗條、健壯——是一個名副其實在森林里長大的姑娘，她的父親和丈夫都是看林人。

房子里有一個聲音喊道：“貝蒂娜，今晚就我們倆；你必須進來。天快要黑了，說不定附近會有普魯士人或狼。”

“媽媽，我這就劈完了，”年輕女人一邊動作熟練用勁劈一根大圓木，一邊答道。她每舉起雙臂劈一下，就挺挺胸。“我就來；不必害怕，天還沒有完全黑。”

隨后，她收拾起大大小小的劈柴，把它們堆放在爐角，返身去關橡木大百葉窗，最后才進來插上沉重的門閂。

她的母親是一位滿臉皺紋的老婦人，正在爐邊紡線。她上了年紀，膽子也小了。“你爹不在這里，我心神不安。兩個女人不大好啊。”

“噢，”年輕女人說，“要是狼或普魯士人來這里，我一定會殺個不亦樂乎。”說完，她瞅了瞅掛在壁爐上方的一把沉甸甸的左輪手槍。

她的丈夫在普魯士人剛開始入侵時就參了軍，剩下了母女倆和老父親。老父親名叫尼古拉·畢雄，別人有時叫他“長腿”，他死活不愿離開家到城里去避難。

這座城市就是雷泰爾，是一座建在巖石上的要塞。那里的居民具有愛國熱忱，早已下定決心抵抗侵略者，構筑防御工事，如有必要，就會像古時候那樣成功抵御圍攻。在亨利四世和路易十四世統治時期，雷泰爾人曾經兩次以英勇保衛城市而著名。如今，他們也一定會這樣做，否則就會遭到屠城。

所以，他們購置了槍炮，組織了民兵，并編排成營和連，現在一天到晚在廣場上操練。所有人——面包師、雜貨商、屠夫、律師、木匠、書商、藥劑師在拉維涅先生的指揮下，輪流在規定時間進行軍事訓練。拉維涅先生從前在龍騎兵隊里當過士官，現在是布料商，娶了大拉沃當先生的女兒，并繼承了他的店鋪。

他當上了雷泰爾的指揮官，因為所有的年輕人都已經上了戰場，所以他就征召了所有其余愿意抵抗進攻的人。身體肥胖的人現在總是快步走在街上，以便減肥和增加肺活量；為了增強臂力，體力不佳的人提起了重物。

他們就這樣等著普魯士人。但是，普魯士人沒有出現。不過，他們離得并不遠，因為他們的偵察兵已經兩次穿過了森林，一直走到了號稱“長腿”的尼古拉·畢雄的護林房。

這個能跑得像狐貍一樣快的老看林人，已經事先把消息通知了城里。大炮嚴陣以待，但敵人沒有露面。

“長腿”的房子充當了設在阿韋林森林里的前哨。為了采購食物，也為了把邊遠地區的消息送給城里的居民，老人每周進城兩次。

這一天，他去了城里，要報告前一天下午兩點左右，一小隊德國步兵在他家里停留，后來幾乎馬上就開拔了。帶隊士官說的是法國話。

老人這樣出發時，隨身帶著他的狗——兩條獅子嘴大狗，以防有狼，因為狼在這個季節開始變得兇殘無比，所以他臨行前囑咐妻女，天一黑，她們就要關好門待在家里。

年輕的女兒什么也不怕，但她的母親總是提心吊膽，不斷重復說：“我們最近一定會遭難的。不遭難才怪哩！”

這天傍晚，她比往常更加心神不安。“你知道你爹幾點回來嗎？”她問。

“噢，十一點前肯定回不來。他和指揮官一起吃飯，總是很晚。”

貝蒂娜把鍋懸在火上熱湯，這時她留心聽到一個聲音從煙囪傳來，突然站住不動了。“有人在樹林里走動，”她說。“至少有七八個人。”

大驚失色的老太太停止了紡輪，氣喘吁吁地說：“噢，我的上帝！你爹不在家呀！”

她的話還沒有說完，就傳來了一連串激烈的砸門聲。

母女倆沒有應聲，這時一個人粗聲惡氣大喊道：“開門！”

一陣短暫的沉默之后，同樣的聲音又喊道：“開門，不然我就要砸門了！”

貝蒂娜從鉤子上摘下那支沉甸甸的手槍，塞進裙子口袋，隨后把耳朵貼到門上。“你是誰？”年輕女人厲聲問道。“你想要什么？”

“是前幾天來過這里的小分隊，”那個聲音答道。“從早上起，我和手下就在樹林里迷路了。開門，不然我就要砸門了！”

看林人的女兒別無選擇；她馬上抽開沉重的門閂，拉開厚重的百葉窗，然后看到了光線暗淡的雪地里有六個人，是六個普魯士兵，就是前一天來過的那伙人。

“晚上這個時候你到這里來干什么？”她無所畏懼地問道。

“我迷失了方向，”軍官答道。“完全迷失了方向。隨后，我認出了這座房子。從早上起，我還沒有吃東西，我的手下也沒有。”

“可是，今晚只有我和媽媽，”貝蒂娜說。

“不用擔心，”那個聽上去好像正派的軍人答道。“我們不會傷害你們，但你必須給我們弄點吃的。我們又餓又困，快要死了。”

于是，姑娘退開一步。“進來吧，”她說。

他們進來了，渾身落滿了雪，鋼盔上撒了一層奶油一樣的泡沫，看上去像蛋白酥皮卷似的，他們都像是筋疲力盡了。

年輕女人指著大桌兩邊的長木凳。“坐下吧，”她說。“我去給你們做些湯。毫無疑問，你們看上去肯定是累得夠嗆，”隨后，她又插上門閂。她在鍋里添了水，加了黃油和土豆，接著從爐角的鉤子上取下了一塊熏肉，切成兩半，一半放進了鍋里。

六個人饑腸轆轆眼巴巴看著她的一舉一動。他們已經把槍和鋼盔放在了一個墻角，等著吃飯，規矩得就像坐在學校長凳上的孩子一般。

老母親又紡起紗來，不時地向那些士兵不安地偷偷瞥上一眼。除了紡輪的嗡嗡聲、爐火的噼啪聲和水在鍋里的響聲之外，什么也聽不到。

但是，一個奇怪的聲音突然把屋里的人都嚇了一跳，聽上去像是一只野獸在門下呼哧呼哧喘氣的聲音。

普魯士軍官縱身跳向步槍。貝蒂娜打了個手勢攔住他，微笑著說：“那不過是狼。它們像你們一樣饑腸轆轆，在森林里走來走去。”

那個人將信將疑，想親眼看看，他一打開門，就看見兩只淺灰色的大野獸晃著大步消失在了黑暗中。

他回到座位上，咕噥道：“我不敢相信真是這么回事！”

接下來，他便靜靜等候，直到晚飯做好。

這伙人狼吞虎咽地吃了起來，為了盡可能吞得更多，嘴巴都張到了耳朵根，圓溜溜的眼睛像嘴巴一樣同時張開，湯流進喉嚨發出的響聲，就像落水管里汩汩的水聲似的。

母女倆默默地看著這些大紅胡子的一舉一動。一塊塊土豆像是被吞進了那些蠕動的毛叢里。

但是，當他們口渴時，看林人的女兒就下到地窖里去給他們取蘋果酒。她去了一段時間。地窖很小，帶著拱形天花板，據說在大革命時期曾經做過牢房，也做過藏身處，人通過一道狹窄蜿蜒的梯子可以走進去，地窖出口在廚房盡頭，一塊活板門蓋在上面。

貝蒂娜回來時，暗自露出了神秘的微笑。她把那罐蘋果酒交給了德國人。隨后，她和母親離開，到廚房另一頭吃晚飯。

這些兵吃完飯后，六個人圍坐在桌邊打起了瞌睡。不時地會有一個人的額頭砰地磕在桌上，這個人會突然醒來，又坐直身體。

貝蒂娜對軍官說：“你們所有人都到爐邊躺下吧。地方大，容得下六個人。我和母親上我的屋里去。”

隨后，母女倆就上樓去了。他們可以聽見她們鎖上了門，聽見她們走動了一陣，隨后她們就沒有了聲音。

普魯士人都躺在了地板上，腳對著火，頭枕著卷起的外衣。不久，六個人便發出了響亮的鼾聲，連續發出六種不同的調子。

他們睡了一段時間，突然響了一槍，槍聲格外響亮，似乎是正對著屋墻打的。那些士兵慌忙站起。槍聲又響了兩下——三下——接著更多。

門匆忙打開，貝蒂娜赤著腳，走了出來，衣服都沒穿齊，手里端著蠟燭，臉上露出了恐懼的神情。“法國人來了，”她結結巴巴地說。“至少有兩百人。一旦他們在這里發現你們，就會燒掉這座房子。看在上帝的面上，趕快下地窖，千萬別弄出任何響聲。一旦你們弄出聲來，我們就都沒命了。”

“我們這就下，我們這就下，”神情恐懼的軍官答道。“從哪里下？”

年輕女人趕忙揭起了那塊四方小活門，六個人一個接一個沿著蜿蜒狹窄的樓梯摸索下去，不見了蹤影。

但是，當最后一頂鋼盔尖一看不見，貝蒂娜就趕緊放下了那塊沉重的橡木蓋——厚似墻、硬如鋼，裝有監獄牢房那樣的鉸鏈和插銷——插上了兩道沉重的插銷。她帶著一種想要在這群俘虜的頭頂跳舞的狂喜，默默地笑了好久。

他們沒有出聲，關進地窖，就像關進保險箱一樣，只能從一個裝有鐵柵的小通風孔獲得空氣。

貝蒂娜再次燃起了爐火，把鍋掛在火上，一邊重新做湯，一邊自言自語：“父親今晚一定很累。”

隨后，她坐下來等著。掛鐘沉重的鐘擺來回擺動，發出了單調的嘀嗒聲。

年輕女人不時急躁地瞥一眼掛鐘，那目光好像是說：“但愿他快點兒！”

但是，不久她的腳下就傳來了說話聲。模糊不清的低聲說話透過地窖的石砌拱頂傳到了她的耳朵里。普魯士人開始漸漸猜到了她搞的計策；過了一會兒，那個軍官爬上狹窄的樓梯，敲起了活板門。“開門！”他喊道。

“你想要什么？”貝蒂娜說著，從座位上站起來，走近地窖口。

“開門！”

“我不會開的！”

“開門，不然我就要砸它！”那個人憤怒地說。

她笑出了聲。“砸吧，好小子！你就砸吧！”

他用槍托砸起了關閉的橡木門。不過，它一定會頂住槍托的撞擊。

看林人的女兒聽到他又下了樓梯。隨后，那些士兵一個接一個來用力撞門。但是，他們發現是在白費力氣之后，就又回到了地窖，開始商談了起來。

年輕女人聽到他們商談了一小段時間，隨后她站起來，打開屋門，望著外面的夜空，側耳傾聽。

遠處一陣狗叫聲傳到了她的耳朵里。她像獵人一樣吹起了口哨，兩條大狗隨即便從暗處走出來，跳到了身邊。她緊緊地抱住它們，放開嗓子喊道：“喂，爸爸！”

遠處一個聲音回答：“喂，貝蒂娜！”

她等了幾秒鐘，然后又喊道：“喂，爸爸！”

那個聲音越來越近，回答道：“喂，貝蒂娜！”

“不要走通風口前，”他的女兒喊道。“地窖里有普魯士人！”

只見那個人的高大身影突然出現在了左邊，站在兩個樹干之間。“普魯士人在地窖里？”他擔心地問道。“他們在干什么？”

年輕女人笑出了聲。“他們就是昨天來過這里的那幾個人。他們迷了路，我讓他們免費住在地窖里。”她把她怎樣開火恐嚇他們，又怎樣把他們關進地窖的經過講了一遍。

那個人仍然一臉嚴肅，問道：“可是，夜里這么晚了，我拿他們怎么辦？”

“去叫拉維涅先生和他的隊伍來，”她答道。“他可以把他們抓起來。他一定會非常高興。”

她的父親露出了微笑。“他一定會非常高興。”

“我給你做了湯，”他的女兒說。“趕快吃了再走。”

老看林人在桌邊坐下來，先把兩只盤子盛滿湯，放在地上喂那兩條狗，然后才開始喝湯。

普魯士人聽到說話聲，都不作聲了。

長腿一刻鐘后出發了，貝蒂娜兩手抱頭等待著。

那些俘虜又開始說話了。他們又是呼喊，又是叫嚷，怒氣沖沖地用槍托撞擊地窖上那塊牢不可破的活板門。隨后，他們從通風口放了幾槍，無疑是希望碰巧在此經過的德軍小分隊聽到。

看林人的女兒沒有動，但這聲音讓她惱怒和緊張。她心里對這些俘虜騰起了無名火；她真想把他們統統殺死，這樣就可以讓他們安靜了。之后，她越來越急躁，望著墻上的掛鐘，一分鐘一分鐘數著過去的時間。

她的父親已經走一個半小時了。他現在一定已經到了城里。她仿佛看到了他把事情經過告訴拉維涅先生的情景，拉維涅先生因情緒激動而臉色發白，拉鈴讓仆人給他拿武器和軍服。她仿佛聽到了號召拿起武器的鼓聲。一張張驚恐的面孔出現在各家窗口。那些民兵氣喘吁吁地走出家門，衣服還沒有穿好，一邊扣皮帶，一邊朝指揮官家里跑去。

隨后，隊伍由長腿領頭，穿過黑夜和積雪，向森林開拔。

她看著掛鐘。“他們說不定一小時后就到這里了。”她焦躁不安。每一分鐘都好像無限漫長。那個時刻再也不會來了嗎？

最后，時鐘指向了她確定他們到來的那個時刻。她打開門，傾聽他們走近的聲音，只見有個人影悄悄地向房子走來。她嚇得大聲呼喊。原來是她的父親。

“他們派我，”他說，“來看看事態有沒有什么變化。”

“沒有——一點也沒有。”

這時，他打了一聲尖利的口哨。很快，一團黑影就從樹下慢慢地走上前來；是十個人組成的前哨。

“不要走在通風口前，”長腿不時重復說道。

前面先到的人把那個讓人萬分恐懼的通風口指給后到的人注意。

最后，部隊的主力都到齊了，一共是兩百人，每人帶了兩百發子彈。

拉維涅先生萬分激動，布置他們把房子團團圍住，只有和地面水平、供地窖通風的小孔前面留下了一大片空地。

拉維涅先生用腳跺了跺活板門，喊道：“我希望跟普魯士軍官說話！”

德國人沒有回應。

“普魯士軍官！”指揮官又喊道。

還是沒有回應。拉維涅先生用了二十分鐘時間要求這個沉默的軍官徹底投降，同時答應他，不傷害任何人的生命，給予軍人應有的榮譽。但是，他既得不到同意的表示，也得不到挑釁的表示。情況變得讓人莫名其妙。

為了取暖，民兵們像馬車夫那樣在雪地里跺著腳，用胳膊拍打胸脯，同時盯著通風口，想從通風口前跑過的欲望像孩子一樣越來越強烈。

最后，其中一個人冒起了這個險，這個人名叫波特萬，身手敏捷，像鹿一樣跑過那個危險區域。這個嘗試取得了成功。那些俘虜沒有露出任何生命的跡象。

一個聲音喊道：“那里沒有人！”

隨后，又一個民兵穿過了這個危險通風口的開闊地。接著，這個危險的運動就變成了一場游戲。每過一分鐘，就有一個人從一邊飛跑到另一邊，就像男孩打壘球一樣，一邊奔跑，一邊在身后踢起雪。為了取暖，他們點起枯枝，燃起了幾大堆火，民兵們從營地右邊飛跑到營地左邊，他們跑動的身影被火光照亮了。

有個人喊道：“現在該你了，馬洛瓦松。”

馬洛瓦松是一個肥胖的面包師，他的過于肥胖常常引起戰友們的笑話。

他猶豫不決。有人取笑他。于是，他鼓起勇氣，邁著小小的搖擺步伐出發了。這種步伐晃動著他的大肚子，引得全體隊員哈哈大笑，眼淚都笑了出來。

“加油，加油，馬洛瓦松！”他們叫喊著給他鼓勁。

他跑了大約三分之二的路程時，一道長長的紅色火焰從通風口里射了出來。緊接著，傳來了一聲響亮的爆炸，胖面包師發出了一聲可怕的尖叫，面朝前撲倒在地。

沒有人跑去救他。隨后，只見他一邊呻吟，一邊拖著身體爬過雪地，等一爬過危險地段，他就暈倒了。

他的大腿上半部中了一槍。

最初的吃驚和驚慌過后，他們又取笑起了他。

但是，拉維涅先生來到了看林人的房門前。他已經想出了作戰計劃，聲音響亮地喊道：“我要管子工普朗許和他的工人們過來。”

三個人走到近前。

“把房頂上的落水管取下來。”

一刻鐘后，他們給指揮官送來了三十碼長的落水管。

接下來，指揮官小心翼翼地在活板門上鉆了一個小圓孔，用落水管做導管從抽水機里向這個圓孔里抽水，他興高采烈地說：“現在，我們要給這些德國先生喝點東西。”

他的手下爆發出了瘋狂的叫好聲和喧鬧的大笑聲。隨后，指揮官組織替換人員，他們要五分鐘換一次班。接著，他命令道：“抽水！”

于是，唧筒搖手開始搖動，一股細流順著落水管流動著，發出輕輕的潺潺聲一節一節流進了地窖。

他們等待著。

一個小時過去了，兩個小時、三個小時過去了。

指揮官坐立不安，在廚房里走來走去，不時地把耳朵貼在地上，想盡可能發現敵人正在做什么，他們會不會馬上投降。

敵人騷動起來了。可以聽見他們到處移動木桶的聲音、說話聲、濺著水走過的聲音。

后來，早上八點鐘左右，通風口傳來了一個聲音：“我要和法國軍官談話。”

拉維涅小心翼翼，不把頭伸得過遠，從窗口回應道：“你投降嗎？”

“我投降。”

“那把槍都放在外面。”

一支步槍馬上從通風口伸出來，落在了雪地里，隨后是第二支、第三支，直到所有的槍都扔了出來。先前那個聲音說道：“我再也沒有了。快點兒！我要淹死了。”

“停止抽水！”指揮官命令道。

于是，唧筒搖手停住不動了。

接著，等持槍等待的民兵站滿廚房后，指揮官才慢慢地掀起了橡木活板門。

四顆腦袋——四顆淺黃長發的腦袋——露了出來，濕淋淋的。六個普魯士人一個接一個走了出來——神情恐懼，瑟瑟發抖，從頭到腳都滴著水。

他們全被抓住，捆了起來。法國人恐有意外，分成兩隊馬上出發，一隊負責押解俘虜，另一隊用幾根轅桿載著床墊抬著馬洛瓦松。

他們勝利地回到了雷泰爾。

拉維涅先生因俘獲普魯士的一支先頭部隊而被授予勛章，胖面包師也因被敵人打傷而得了一枚軍功章。