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 bear 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.