第8章 The Prisoners 俘虏

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.

除了雪落在树上的轻微颤动声之外，森林里没有一点声音。雪从中午起就一直下着；细细的小雪落在树枝上，树枝就像覆盖了一层冰冻的苔藓似的，给坑洼里的枯叶普遍盖上了一层银被，给道路铺上了一层雪白柔软的地毯，使这无边无际的茫茫林海越发沉寂了。

在看林人的房门前，一个露出胳膊肘的年轻女人正用斧头在一块石头上劈柴。她高大、苗条、健壮——是一个名副其实在森林里长大的姑娘，她的父亲和丈夫都是看林人。

房子里有一个声音喊道：“贝蒂娜，今晚就我们俩；你必须进来。天快要黑了，说不定附近会有普鲁士人或狼。”

“妈妈，我这就劈完了，”年轻女人一边动作熟练用劲劈一根大圆木，一边答道。她每举起双臂劈一下，就挺挺胸。“我就来；不必害怕，天还没有完全黑。”

随后，她收拾起大大小小的劈柴，把它们堆放在炉角，返身去关橡木大百叶窗，最后才进来插上沉重的门闩。

她的母亲是一位满脸皱纹的老妇人，正在炉边纺线。她上了年纪，胆子也小了。“你爹不在这里，我心神不安。两个女人不大好啊。”

“噢，”年轻女人说，“要是狼或普鲁士人来这里，我一定会杀个不亦乐乎。”说完，她瞅了瞅挂在壁炉上方的一把沉甸甸的左轮手枪。

她的丈夫在普鲁士人刚开始入侵时就参了军，剩下了母女俩和老父亲。老父亲名叫尼古拉·毕雄，别人有时叫他“长腿”，他死活不愿离开家到城里去避难。

这座城市就是雷泰尔，是一座建在岩石上的要塞。那里的居民具有爱国热忱，早已下定决心抵抗侵略者，构筑防御工事，如有必要，就会像古时候那样成功抵御围攻。在亨利四世和路易十四世统治时期，雷泰尔人曾经两次以英勇保卫城市而著名。如今，他们也一定会这样做，否则就会遭到屠城。

所以，他们购置了枪炮，组织了民兵，并编排成营和连，现在一天到晚在广场上操练。所有人——面包师、杂货商、屠夫、律师、木匠、书商、药剂师在拉维涅先生的指挥下，轮流在规定时间进行军事训练。拉维涅先生从前在龙骑兵队里当过士官，现在是布料商，娶了大拉沃当先生的女儿，并继承了他的店铺。

他当上了雷泰尔的指挥官，因为所有的年轻人都已经上了战场，所以他就征召了所有其余愿意抵抗进攻的人。身体肥胖的人现在总是快步走在街上，以便减肥和增加肺活量；为了增强臂力，体力不佳的人提起了重物。

他们就这样等着普鲁士人。但是，普鲁士人没有出现。不过，他们离得并不远，因为他们的侦察兵已经两次穿过了森林，一直走到了号称“长腿”的尼古拉·毕雄的护林房。

这个能跑得像狐狸一样快的老看林人，已经事先把消息通知了城里。大炮严阵以待，但敌人没有露面。

“长腿”的房子充当了设在阿韦林森林里的前哨。为了采购食物，也为了把边远地区的消息送给城里的居民，老人每周进城两次。

这一天，他去了城里，要报告前一天下午两点左右，一小队德国步兵在他家里停留，后来几乎马上就开拔了。带队士官说的是法国话。

老人这样出发时，随身带着他的狗——两条狮子嘴大狗，以防有狼，因为狼在这个季节开始变得凶残无比，所以他临行前嘱咐妻女，天一黑，她们就要关好门待在家里。

年轻的女儿什么也不怕，但她的母亲总是提心吊胆，不断重复说：“我们最近一定会遭难的。不遭难才怪哩！”

这天傍晚，她比往常更加心神不安。“你知道你爹几点回来吗？”她问。

“噢，十一点前肯定回不来。他和指挥官一起吃饭，总是很晚。”

贝蒂娜把锅悬在火上热汤，这时她留心听到一个声音从烟囱传来，突然站住不动了。“有人在树林里走动，”她说。“至少有七八个人。”

大惊失色的老太太停止了纺轮，气喘吁吁地说：“噢，我的上帝！你爹不在家呀！”

她的话还没有说完，就传来了一连串激烈的砸门声。

母女俩没有应声，这时一个人粗声恶气大喊道：“开门！”

一阵短暂的沉默之后，同样的声音又喊道：“开门，不然我就要砸门了！”

贝蒂娜从钩子上摘下那支沉甸甸的手枪，塞进裙子口袋，随后把耳朵贴到门上。“你是谁？”年轻女人厉声问道。“你想要什么？”

“是前几天来过这里的小分队，”那个声音答道。“从早上起，我和手下就在树林里迷路了。开门，不然我就要砸门了！”

看林人的女儿别无选择；她马上抽开沉重的门闩，拉开厚重的百叶窗，然后看到了光线暗淡的雪地里有六个人，是六个普鲁士兵，就是前一天来过的那伙人。

“晚上这个时候你到这里来干什么？”她无所畏惧地问道。

“我迷失了方向，”军官答道。“完全迷失了方向。随后，我认出了这座房子。从早上起，我还没有吃东西，我的手下也没有。”

“可是，今晚只有我和妈妈，”贝蒂娜说。

“不用担心，”那个听上去好像正派的军人答道。“我们不会伤害你们，但你必须给我们弄点吃的。我们又饿又困，快要死了。”

于是，姑娘退开一步。“进来吧，”她说。

他们进来了，浑身落满了雪，钢盔上撒了一层奶油一样的泡沫，看上去像蛋白酥皮卷似的，他们都像是筋疲力尽了。

年轻女人指着大桌两边的长木凳。“坐下吧，”她说。“我去给你们做些汤。毫无疑问，你们看上去肯定是累得够呛，”随后，她又插上门闩。她在锅里添了水，加了黄油和土豆，接着从炉角的钩子上取下了一块熏肉，切成两半，一半放进了锅里。

六个人饥肠辘辘眼巴巴看着她的一举一动。他们已经把枪和钢盔放在了一个墙角，等着吃饭，规矩得就像坐在学校长凳上的孩子一般。

老母亲又纺起纱来，不时地向那些士兵不安地偷偷瞥上一眼。除了纺轮的嗡嗡声、炉火的噼啪声和水在锅里的响声之外，什么也听不到。

但是，一个奇怪的声音突然把屋里的人都吓了一跳，听上去像是一只野兽在门下呼哧呼哧喘气的声音。

普鲁士军官纵身跳向步枪。贝蒂娜打了个手势拦住他，微笑着说：“那不过是狼。它们像你们一样饥肠辘辘，在森林里走来走去。”

那个人将信将疑，想亲眼看看，他一打开门，就看见两只浅灰色的大野兽晃着大步消失在了黑暗中。

他回到座位上，咕哝道：“我不敢相信真是这么回事！”

接下来，他便静静等候，直到晚饭做好。

这伙人狼吞虎咽地吃了起来，为了尽可能吞得更多，嘴巴都张到了耳朵根，圆溜溜的眼睛像嘴巴一样同时张开，汤流进喉咙发出的响声，就像落水管里汩汩的水声似的。

母女俩默默地看着这些大红胡子的一举一动。一块块土豆像是被吞进了那些蠕动的毛丛里。

但是，当他们口渴时，看林人的女儿就下到地窖里去给他们取苹果酒。她去了一段时间。地窖很小，带着拱形天花板，据说在大革命时期曾经做过牢房，也做过藏身处，人通过一道狭窄蜿蜒的梯子可以走进去，地窖出口在厨房尽头，一块活板门盖在上面。

贝蒂娜回来时，暗自露出了神秘的微笑。她把那罐苹果酒交给了德国人。随后，她和母亲离开，到厨房另一头吃晚饭。

这些兵吃完饭后，六个人围坐在桌边打起了瞌睡。不时地会有一个人的额头砰地磕在桌上，这个人会突然醒来，又坐直身体。

贝蒂娜对军官说：“你们所有人都到炉边躺下吧。地方大，容得下六个人。我和母亲上我的屋里去。”

随后，母女俩就上楼去了。他们可以听见她们锁上了门，听见她们走动了一阵，随后她们就没有了声音。

普鲁士人都躺在了地板上，脚对着火，头枕着卷起的外衣。不久，六个人便发出了响亮的鼾声，连续发出六种不同的调子。

他们睡了一段时间，突然响了一枪，枪声格外响亮，似乎是正对着屋墙打的。那些士兵慌忙站起。枪声又响了两下——三下——接着更多。

门匆忙打开，贝蒂娜赤着脚，走了出来，衣服都没穿齐，手里端着蜡烛，脸上露出了恐惧的神情。“法国人来了，”她结结巴巴地说。“至少有两百人。一旦他们在这里发现你们，就会烧掉这座房子。看在上帝的面上，赶快下地窖，千万别弄出任何响声。一旦你们弄出声来，我们就都没命了。”

“我们这就下，我们这就下，”神情恐惧的军官答道。“从哪里下？”

年轻女人赶忙揭起了那块四方小活门，六个人一个接一个沿着蜿蜒狭窄的楼梯摸索下去，不见了踪影。

但是，当最后一顶钢盔尖一看不见，贝蒂娜就赶紧放下了那块沉重的橡木盖——厚似墙、硬如钢，装有监狱牢房那样的铰链和插销——插上了两道沉重的插销。她带着一种想要在这群俘虏的头顶跳舞的狂喜，默默地笑了好久。

他们没有出声，关进地窖，就像关进保险箱一样，只能从一个装有铁栅的小通风孔获得空气。

贝蒂娜再次燃起了炉火，把锅挂在火上，一边重新做汤，一边自言自语：“父亲今晚一定很累。”

随后，她坐下来等着。挂钟沉重的钟摆来回摆动，发出了单调的嘀嗒声。

年轻女人不时急躁地瞥一眼挂钟，那目光好像是说：“但愿他快点儿！”

但是，不久她的脚下就传来了说话声。模糊不清的低声说话透过地窖的石砌拱顶传到了她的耳朵里。普鲁士人开始渐渐猜到了她搞的计策；过了一会儿，那个军官爬上狭窄的楼梯，敲起了活板门。“开门！”他喊道。

“你想要什么？”贝蒂娜说着，从座位上站起来，走近地窖口。

“开门！”

“我不会开的！”

“开门，不然我就要砸它！”那个人愤怒地说。

她笑出了声。“砸吧，好小子！你就砸吧！”

他用枪托砸起了关闭的橡木门。不过，它一定会顶住枪托的撞击。

看林人的女儿听到他又下了楼梯。随后，那些士兵一个接一个来用力撞门。但是，他们发现是在白费力气之后，就又回到了地窖，开始商谈了起来。

年轻女人听到他们商谈了一小段时间，随后她站起来，打开屋门，望着外面的夜空，侧耳倾听。

远处一阵狗叫声传到了她的耳朵里。她像猎人一样吹起了口哨，两条大狗随即便从暗处走出来，跳到了身边。她紧紧地抱住它们，放开嗓子喊道：“喂，爸爸！”

远处一个声音回答：“喂，贝蒂娜！”

她等了几秒钟，然后又喊道：“喂，爸爸！”

那个声音越来越近，回答道：“喂，贝蒂娜！”

“不要走通风口前，”他的女儿喊道。“地窖里有普鲁士人！”

只见那个人的高大身影突然出现在了左边，站在两个树干之间。“普鲁士人在地窖里？”他担心地问道。“他们在干什么？”

年轻女人笑出了声。“他们就是昨天来过这里的那几个人。他们迷了路，我让他们免费住在地窖里。”她把她怎样开火恐吓他们，又怎样把他们关进地窖的经过讲了一遍。

那个人仍然一脸严肃，问道：“可是，夜里这么晚了，我拿他们怎么办？”

“去叫拉维涅先生和他的队伍来，”她答道。“他可以把他们抓起来。他一定会非常高兴。”

她的父亲露出了微笑。“他一定会非常高兴。”

“我给你做了汤，”他的女儿说。“赶快吃了再走。”

老看林人在桌边坐下来，先把两只盘子盛满汤，放在地上喂那两条狗，然后才开始喝汤。

普鲁士人听到说话声，都不作声了。

长腿一刻钟后出发了，贝蒂娜两手抱头等待着。

那些俘虏又开始说话了。他们又是呼喊，又是叫嚷，怒气冲冲地用枪托撞击地窖上那块牢不可破的活板门。随后，他们从通风口放了几枪，无疑是希望碰巧在此经过的德军小分队听到。

看林人的女儿没有动，但这声音让她恼怒和紧张。她心里对这些俘虏腾起了无名火；她真想把他们统统杀死，这样就可以让他们安静了。之后，她越来越急躁，望着墙上的挂钟，一分钟一分钟数着过去的时间。

她的父亲已经走一个半小时了。他现在一定已经到了城里。她仿佛看到了他把事情经过告诉拉维涅先生的情景，拉维涅先生因情绪激动而脸色发白，拉铃让仆人给他拿武器和军服。她仿佛听到了号召拿起武器的鼓声。一张张惊恐的面孔出现在各家窗口。那些民兵气喘吁吁地走出家门，衣服还没有穿好，一边扣皮带，一边朝指挥官家里跑去。

随后，队伍由长腿领头，穿过黑夜和积雪，向森林开拔。

她看着挂钟。“他们说不定一小时后就到这里了。”她焦躁不安。每一分钟都好像无限漫长。那个时刻再也不会来了吗？

最后，时钟指向了她确定他们到来的那个时刻。她打开门，倾听他们走近的声音，只见有个人影悄悄地向房子走来。她吓得大声呼喊。原来是她的父亲。

“他们派我，”他说，“来看看事态有没有什么变化。”

“没有——一点也没有。”

这时，他打了一声尖利的口哨。很快，一团黑影就从树下慢慢地走上前来；是十个人组成的前哨。

“不要走在通风口前，”长腿不时重复说道。

前面先到的人把那个让人万分恐惧的通风口指给后到的人注意。

最后，部队的主力都到齐了，一共是两百人，每人带了两百发子弹。

拉维涅先生万分激动，布置他们把房子团团围住，只有和地面水平、供地窖通风的小孔前面留下了一大片空地。

拉维涅先生用脚跺了跺活板门，喊道：“我希望跟普鲁士军官说话！”

德国人没有回应。

“普鲁士军官！”指挥官又喊道。

还是没有回应。拉维涅先生用了二十分钟时间要求这个沉默的军官彻底投降，同时答应他，不伤害任何人的生命，给予军人应有的荣誉。但是，他既得不到同意的表示，也得不到挑衅的表示。情况变得让人莫名其妙。

为了取暖，民兵们像马车夫那样在雪地里跺着脚，用胳膊拍打胸脯，同时盯着通风口，想从通风口前跑过的欲望像孩子一样越来越强烈。

最后，其中一个人冒起了这个险，这个人名叫波特万，身手敏捷，像鹿一样跑过那个危险区域。这个尝试取得了成功。那些俘虏没有露出任何生命的迹象。

一个声音喊道：“那里没有人！”

随后，又一个民兵穿过了这个危险通风口的开阔地。接着，这个危险的运动就变成了一场游戏。每过一分钟，就有一个人从一边飞跑到另一边，就像男孩打垒球一样，一边奔跑，一边在身后踢起雪。为了取暖，他们点起枯枝，燃起了几大堆火，民兵们从营地右边飞跑到营地左边，他们跑动的身影被火光照亮了。

有个人喊道：“现在该你了，马洛瓦松。”

马洛瓦松是一个肥胖的面包师，他的过于肥胖常常引起战友们的笑话。

他犹豫不决。有人取笑他。于是，他鼓起勇气，迈着小小的摇摆步伐出发了。这种步伐晃动着他的大肚子，引得全体队员哈哈大笑，眼泪都笑了出来。

“加油，加油，马洛瓦松！”他们叫喊着给他鼓劲。

他跑了大约三分之二的路程时，一道长长的红色火焰从通风口里射了出来。紧接着，传来了一声响亮的爆炸，胖面包师发出了一声可怕的尖叫，面朝前扑倒在地。

没有人跑去救他。随后，只见他一边呻吟，一边拖着身体爬过雪地，等一爬过危险地段，他就晕倒了。

他的大腿上半部中了一枪。

最初的吃惊和惊慌过后，他们又取笑起了他。

但是，拉维涅先生来到了看林人的房门前。他已经想出了作战计划，声音响亮地喊道：“我要管子工普朗许和他的工人们过来。”

三个人走到近前。

“把房顶上的落水管取下来。”

一刻钟后，他们给指挥官送来了三十码长的落水管。

接下来，指挥官小心翼翼地在活板门上钻了一个小圆孔，用落水管做导管从抽水机里向这个圆孔里抽水，他兴高采烈地说：“现在，我们要给这些德国先生喝点东西。”

他的手下爆发出了疯狂的叫好声和喧闹的大笑声。随后，指挥官组织替换人员，他们要五分钟换一次班。接着，他命令道：“抽水！”

于是，唧筒摇手开始摇动，一股细流顺着落水管流动着，发出轻轻的潺潺声一节一节流进了地窖。

他们等待着。

一个小时过去了，两个小时、三个小时过去了。

指挥官坐立不安，在厨房里走来走去，不时地把耳朵贴在地上，想尽可能发现敌人正在做什么，他们会不会马上投降。

敌人骚动起来了。可以听见他们到处移动木桶的声音、说话声、溅着水走过的声音。

后来，早上八点钟左右，通风口传来了一个声音：“我要和法国军官谈话。”

拉维涅小心翼翼，不把头伸得过远，从窗口回应道：“你投降吗？”

“我投降。”

“那把枪都放在外面。”

一支步枪马上从通风口伸出来，落在了雪地里，随后是第二支、第三支，直到所有的枪都扔了出来。先前那个声音说道：“我再也没有了。快点儿！我要淹死了。”

“停止抽水！”指挥官命令道。

于是，唧筒摇手停住不动了。

接着，等持枪等待的民兵站满厨房后，指挥官才慢慢地掀起了橡木活板门。

四颗脑袋——四颗浅黄长发的脑袋——露了出来，湿淋淋的。六个普鲁士人一个接一个走了出来——神情恐惧，瑟瑟发抖，从头到脚都滴着水。

他们全被抓住，捆了起来。法国人恐有意外，分成两队马上出发，一队负责押解俘虏，另一队用几根辕杆载着床垫抬着马洛瓦松。

他们胜利地回到了雷泰尔。

拉维涅先生因俘获普鲁士的一支先头部队而被授予勋章，胖面包师也因被敌人打伤而得了一枚军功章。