The Attack on the Mill.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 5, 30 January 1892, Page 102

The Attack on the Mill.

BY

EMILE ZOLA

* \fa i>R twenty years Father Merlier had ■/ Jr been Mayor of Rocreuse. When \ he married Madeleine Guillard, he I f// had only his two arms, but Madeleine brought him the mill for a His wife was now dead and he lived alone with his daughter Francoise. Merlier was a finelooking old man, a tall, silent figure, who never laughed, bnt

nevertheless he was gay at heart. He was chosen Mayor because of his money, and also because’he married people in such handsome fashion. Francoise Merlier was eighteen years old. She had black hair, black eyes, and

fresh rosy colour. Still she was not one of the beauties of the country. The quiet ways of her father had made her wise beyond her years. If she laughed it was for the pleasure of others. At heart she was serious. Naturally from her position she was courted on every side. But when she made her choice all her little world wondered. On the other side of the Moselle lived a great fellow named Dominique Penquer. He was not of llocreuse. He came fiom Belgium ten years before, as the heir of an uncle who owned a little ground on the edge of the forest of Gagny, opposite Merlier’s mill. He had meant to sell his land and go back. Instead he remained, charmed by the country, he said. Then he raised vegetables, hunted, fished and lay on the grass and slept when other people worked. The peasant scould explain such an idle life only by the suspicion that he poached at night. The young girls sometimes undertook his defence because he was good to look upon, supple and tall as a poplar, with blonde hair and beard, that shone like gold in the sun. Now one fine morning Francoise told her father that she loved Dominique, and would marry nobody else. Father Merlier looked as if he had received a stroke. He said nothing, according to bis custom, but he was silent for a week. Francoise was silent also. Then one evening, without saying anything, he brought Dominique to the house. Francoise too said nothing, but made a place for him at the table, and her smile reappeared. The next morning father Merlier went to see Dominique at his hut ; the two men talked together. No one knew what they said, but after that father Merlier treated Dominique as a son.

All Hocreuse was astounded : the women chattered greatly over the folly of Father Merlier. In the midst of all this Francoise and Dominique looked at each other with smiling tenderness. Father Merlier had as yet said nothing of marriage, and both respected his silence. Finally, one day toward the middle of July be set three tables in the middle of the court and asked bis friends to sup with him. Then when the guests rose with glass in hand, Father Merlier, raising his voice, said : ‘ It is with pleasure that I announce to you that Francoise is to marty that great fellow there, on the day of Saint Louis,’

All laughed and drank merrily. Then Father Met Her raised his voice again : • Dominique, embrace your/’ancev.’ Blushingly the two embraced one another, and the guests laughed still louder. When the cask was finished and the guests gone an old peasant spoke of the war the Emperor hail declared against Prussia. ‘Bali, said Father Merlier with the egotism of a happy man. ‘ Dominique is a foreigner, it doesn't concern him. If the Prussians come he will be here to defend the wife. The idea that the Prussians might come seemed a good joke. If they did come a well-directed stroke on their tiank, and that would end it.

* 1 have already seen them. I have already seen them,' muttered the old peasant in a thick, low voice. A moment s silence and they drank again. Francoise and Dominique heard nothing. They sat behind the others, ham! in hand, lost in the shadows that no eyes could pierce.

A month later, on the eve of St. Louis, the Prussians had beaten the Emperor, and were making forced marches toward llocreuse * They are at Tormiere‘they are at Novellesthus each day believing that each night they would fall upon the village and swallow it up.

The night before there had been an alarm, the women fell on their knees, and made the sign of the cross ; then they saw the red trousers and opened their windows. It was a French detachment, whose captain had remained at the mill talking with Father Merlier.

The Captain went about the mill and studied the country with his glass. Merlier went about with him and seemed to give advice. Then the captain posted soldiers behind the walls and the trees, and camped the detachment in the court of the mill. When Merlier came back they questioner! him. Was there to be a fight ? He nodded his hear! slowly without s|>eaking. ‘ Yes. there was to be a tight.’ Francoise and Dominique were then in the court and watched him. He finished by taking out his pipe, and said

* Ah, my poor children, to-morrow you were t-o have been married.’ Dominique, with tight lips and angry forehead, stood with eyes fixed on the forest of Gagny, that he might see the moment the Prussians arrived : Francoise, pale and serious, went and came, giving the soldiers what they needed. The Captain was delighted. • You have a fortress,’ he said : ‘we can hold it until evening. ‘ They are late.’ The miller remained grave. He saw his mill burning like a torch. He did not complain. That was useless. All he said was : ‘ You ought to hide the boat behind the wheel. It may serve you.’ The Captain was a fine-looking fellow, forty years old. The sight of Francoise and Dominique pleased him. He seemed to have forgotten the approaching struggle. He followed Francoise with his eyes, and his manner showed that he thought her charming. Then turning toward Dominique : ‘ You are not in the army, my boy ?’ ‘ I am foreigner,’ replied the young man. The Captain did not appear to accept this reason : he smiled, Francoise was more agreeable company than a ride. Seeing this Dominique said : ‘ 1 am a foreigner, but I can hit an apple at 500 yards. There is my gun behind you.’ • It will be of use,’ replied the Captain. Francoise approached trembling, and Dominique took her hand in his with a protective air. The Captain smiled again, but said nothing. Seated there, his sword between his knees, his eyes far away he seemed to dream. Then the sound of a firing broke the silence. The Captain sprang to his feet, the soldiers left their plates of soup, and in a few seconds all were at their posts. From the forest of Gagny arose a slender thread of smoke. The tiring continued and grew heavier. Francoise and Dominique clasped one another, screened by a high wall. A little soldier behind an old boat, tiring and hiding while he reloaded bis gun, interested them by his droll movements until they laughed. Then as he raised his head to tire again, he gave a cry and rolled convulsively intoaditch. It was the first death. Francoise shuddered and clung to Dominique in nervous terror. ‘ Don’t stay here,’ said the Captain. * You are under fire.’ An oak tree shivered overhead, but they did not move when the firing ceased and they heard only the ripple of the Moselle. Father Merlier looked at the Captain with astonishment. • Have they finished ’ ‘ Don’t deceive yourself, they are preparing to attack. Get inside.’ He had scarcely finished when a shower of leaves fell from the oak. They had filed too high. Dominique drew Francoise closer to him. ‘Come, children, hide in the cellar. The walls are thick,’ urged the miller. They did not heed him, but went into the great room of the mill ; here a dozen soldiers were waiting behind the closed shutters. The outpost had not been driven in. The idea was to gain time. The tiring continued : an officer reported. The Captain drew out his watch. Two hours and a half : we must detain them four hours longer. They shut the great doors of the court and prepared for determined resistance. The Prussians had not yet crossed the Moselle. Then the firing ceased. At high noon the mill seemed dead. Every shutter was closed and not a sound came from within. Then the Prussians showed themselves beyond the woods of Gagny. As they grew bolder the soldiers in the mill prepared to tire. ‘ No,’ said the Captain, ‘ let them come nearer.’ The Prussians looked anxiously at the old mill, silent, gloomy, with closed shutters : then boldly advanced. As they crossed the meadow, the officer gave the word. The air was tilled with the rattle of shots. Francoise clapped her hands to her ears. When the smoke had cleared away, Dominique saw two or three soldiers on their backs in the middle of the field. The others had hid behind the poplars. The siege had begun. For an hour bullets rattled against the mill. From time to time the Captain consulted his watch, and as a ball pierced the shutter and lodgedin the ceiling, he murmured : ‘ Four hours. We can never hold it.’ Little by little the mill yielded to the terrible firing. A shutter tell in the water, pierced like lace-work. They replaced it by a mattress. At each round Merlier exposed himself to see the blow given his old mill. All was over. Never again would its wheel turn. Dominique begged Francoise to hide, but she refused to leave him ; she was seated behind an old oak cupboard that protected her. Then a ball pierced it, and Dominique, gun in hand, placed himself before her. ‘ Attention,’cried the captain suddenly. A dark mass appeared out of the wood. Then a forrnidable fire opened. Another shutter dropped and the balls entered. Two soldiers fell, a third was wounded : he said nothing, but fell over the edge of the table, with eyes fixed and staring. In the face of the dead, Francoise, dumb with hotror, pushed back her chair mechanically, and sat down on the floor, near the wall. ‘ Five hours,’ said the captain. • Let us hold on. They are going to cross the river.'

At this moment Francoise cried out. A spent ball struck her on the forehead : some drops of blood flowed. Dominique saw it. Then going to the window for thefirst time he fired. He did not stop, but loaded and fired, unmindful of everything else, except when once he cast a glance at Francoise. As the Captain had foreseen, the Prussians were crossing the river behind the poplars ; one too bold fell pierced by a ball from Dominique’s gun. The Captain, who had watched him, was astonished, and complimented the young man. But Dominique heard nothing. A ball struck his shoulder, another bruised his arm, still he kept on. The position seemed no longer tenable, a last discharge shook the mill. But the officer only repeated : ‘ We must hold it another half-hour.’ Now he counted the minutes, but kept his amiable air, smiling at Francoise, to reassure her. Then he took a gun from a dead soldier and fired. There were now but four soldiers left in the room. The Prussians were on the brink. Still the Captain waited An old sergeant ran in. * They are going to take us from the rear.’ The Captain took out his watch. * Five minutes more—they cannot get here before.' At six o'clock precisely the Captain gave the order to retreat, and the men filed out of the little door into the street. Before leaving the Captain saluted the miller and said : * Amuse them ; we will return.’ Meanwhile Dominique remained alone in the mill, still firing, hearing nothing, comprehending nothing. He only knew that he must defend Francoise. With each charge he killed a man. Suddenly there was a great noise ; the Prussians rushed in from behind. He fired once more and they fell upon him with his gun smoking in his hand. Four men held him, an unknown language roared around him. Francoise fell on her knees before them in supplication. An officer entered and took him prisoner. After some words in German with the soldiers he turned to Dominique and said roughly in very good French : ‘ You will be shot in two hours. ’ This had been the order issued by the Commander-in-chief of the Prussian forces against peasants who might be found defending their firesides. The officer, a large man, fifty years old, briefly questioned Dominique. * Do you belong here ?’ * No, I am a Belgian.’ * Why did you take up arms ? This does not concern you.’ Dominique did not answer. Then the officer saw Francoise standing near ; the mark of her wound showed a red bar across her pale forehead. He looked at the young couple, first at one, then the other, and seemed to understand. ‘ You do not deny having fired ?’ ‘I did all I could do,’ said Dominique, tranquilly. This avowal was useless; he was black with powder, covered with sweat, and a few drops of blood trickled from his shoulder. ‘ Very well,’ said the officer. ‘ You will be shot in two hours.’ Francoise did not weep. She clasped her hands and raised them with a gesture of mute despair. The officer noticed this. Two soldiers led Dominique away. The young girl fell on a chair and began to weep. The officer still watched her, then spoke. ‘ls this youth your brother ’’ She shook her hand. He was silent and serious, then spoke again. ‘ Has he lived here long ?’ ‘ Yes.’ ‘ Then he ought to be familiar with the neighbouring woods.’ ‘ Yes, monsieur,’ she said, looking at him with surprise. He added nothing more, but turned on his heels and asked for the mayor of the village. Francoise took hope, and ran to find her father. The miller, as soon as the firing had ceased, went to look at his wheel. He adored Francoise, he had a solid liking for Dominique, his future son-in-law, but his wheel was dear to him. As soon as he knew his two children were safe, he thought of his other cherished one. Now he bent over the great carcase of wood and studied its wounds with a bewildered air. Five paddles were gone. The centre was perforated with bullets. He pushed his finger in the trough of the balls to measure their depth. He was wondering how he could ever repair this distruction. Francoise found him melancholy among the ruins. * Father,’ said she, ‘ they want you.’ She was still weeping, and related to him what had passea. Father Merlier shook his head, ‘ They do not shoot people like that, I will go see.’ He re entered the mill with a silent peaceable air. The officer asked for some food for the men. Merlier told him that they would obtain nothing by violence, but if left to him he would see that they got it. The officer was at first angry, but recovered himself before the few decisive words of the old man, and asked, * What are those woods yonder ‘ The woods of Sauval. ’ ‘ What is their extent ?’ The miller looked at him steadily. ‘ I do not know.’ Then he went away. An hour after they brought in the levies of food. Night came on. Francoise followed anxiously the movements of the soldiers. Toward 7 o’clock her sufferings were horrible. She saw the officer enter the room where Dominique was confined. He stayed there a quarter of an hour, and she heard their excited voices. Then he came out, gave an order in German, and a squad of twelve soldiers with guns ranged themselves in the conrt ; she began to shiver ; she thought she was dying. The execution was then to take place. The soldiers remained ten minutes. The voice of Dominique was heard in a steady tone of refusal. Than the officer came out again banging the door. ‘ Very well, reflect. I will give you till to-morrow.’ With a gesture he dismissed the men. Francoise remained stupefied. Father Merlier, who continued smoking his pipe, looked at the tile of men curiously ; then taking Francoise tenderly by the arm, led her into her room. *Be tranquil,'said he, ‘ try and sleep. To-morrow will be another day and we shall see.’ Francoise did not sleep ; she sat a long time on her bed, listening to the noises without. The German soldiers sang ami laughed. But what concerned her most were the sounds in the room beneath, where Dominique was confined. She lay down on the floor and put her ear to the plank. She

heard Dominique walk from wall to window ; sometimes he sat down. Outside all sounds at last ceased, the troops were asleep. Francoise opened the window softly and leaned out. The night was serene. The moon, setting behind the woods of Sauval, Hooded the field which the shadows of the poplars barred with black. But Francoise thought not of the mysterious charm of the night. She studied the country ; looked to see where the sentinels were posted. One only was in front of the mill. She could distinguish him perfectly, a great fellow, immovable, with his face turned upward, and with the dreamy air of a shepherd. When she had inspected the place carefully, she sat down again on her bed. She sat there an hour absorbed in her thoughts. She listened again, not a breath disturbed the house. She returned to the window and looked out. The moon was down and the night dark ; she could no longer see the face of the sentinel ; the field was as black as ink. She listened a moment, then climbed out of the window. An iron ladder, its bars fixed in the wall, ran from the wheel to the garret. A long time disused it was overgrown with moss and ivy. Francoise bravely seized one of the bars, and swung herself over ; she began to descend ; her skirt embarrassed her ; a stone broken loose fell with a splash into the Moselle below. She stopped, frozen with terror ; then she reflected that the noise would cover her descent ; she boldly pushed on, tearing away the ivy with her feet to uncover the rungs. When she reached Dominique’s window a new danger awaited her. It was not directly beneath her own ; she put out her hand and felt—only a wall. Must she then go back and renounce her project. Her arms were tired and the sound of the Moselle below made her dizzy. She picked off a bit of plaster and threw it in at Dominique’s window. He did not hear ; perhaps he slept; she tore her fingers in detaching a bit of stone : she was at the end of her strength; she felt herself tailing when Dominique softly raised the window. *lt is I,’ she murmured. * Take me quickly ; I fall.’ He bent out, caught her, and lifted her into the room. She began to cry, but stifled her tears lest some one might hear her. Then, by a supreme effort she calmed herself. ‘ You are guarded ?’ she asked in a low voice. Dominique, still stupefied at seeing her, pointed to the door. Outside the sentinel had fallen asleep, leaning against the door. ‘ You must fly,’ she said quickly ; ‘ I have come to beg you to fly and to say adieu.’ He did not appear to hear her, but repeated : ‘lt is you ;it is you : oh, how you frightened me. You might have Killed yourself.’ He took her hands and kissed them. ‘ How I love you, Francoise, you are as courageous as you are good. I had only one fear, that I would die without seeing you. But you are here, and now they may kill me.’ He had drawn her toward him, and her head rested on his shoulder. Danger brought them nearer together. ‘Ah,’said Dominique in a caressing voice, ‘this is the day of Saint Louis, our marriage day. Nothing has been able to separate us ; we have been faithful to the rendezvous. Have we not, dear? This is our wedding day.’ ‘ Yes, yes,’ she repeated ; ‘ our wedding day.’ They exchanged a long, lingering kiss. Suddenly she freed herself ; the terrible reality rose before her. ‘ You must fly, you must fly. AVe must not lose a minute.’ He held out his arms to beg her to return to them. ‘O, I pray you,’ she said, ‘ listen to me. In an hour it will be daybreak. If you die I will die. You must go at once. ’

Rapidly she explained her plan. The ladder descended to the wheel ; by means of the paddles he could reach the boat. It would be easy then to gain the other side of the river and escape.

‘ But the sentinels ?’ ‘ There is but one at the foot of the first willow.’ 1 If he sees me, if he gives the alarm ?’ Francoise shuddered : she put in his hand a knife she had brought with her. ‘ And your father and you ?’ he asked. ‘ No, I will not go. If Igo they will, perhaps, kill you. You do not know. They will spare me if I will guide them through the forest of Sauval. If they find me gone they are capable of anything.’ The young girl would not stop to argue. To all this she only said : ‘ For love of me, fly. If you love me, Dominique, do not stay another minute in this place.’ She promised to climb back to her room ; she gave him another passionate embrace. And he yielded, but asked one question more. ‘ Swear to me that your father knows this and bids me

‘ My father sent me,' said Francoise, without hesitation. She had but one desire, to assure herself of his safety. ‘ Very well,’ said Dominique, ‘I will do as you wish.’ They spoke no more. Dominique opened the window. Then a sound at the door froze them. They believed their voices overheard. They clung to one another, expectant, in terrible anguish. The door creaked, but did not open. They heard a sigh, and the long breathing of the soldier asleep across the threshold. Dominique insisted on Francoise first remounting to her room. They bade one another a mute adieu; then he helped her on to the ladder. When she had gained her room, in a voice light as a zephyr, she breathed down, ‘ Au revolt-. I love you.’ She leaned out, trying to follow Dominique with her eyes. She looked for the sentinel, but could not see him. An instant, and she heard the movement of Dominique’s body among the vines. Then the wheel cracked, and a 1 ight sound announced that he had found the boat. She saw its black outline against the grey Moselle. A terrible anguish seized her : she thought she heard the alarm of the sentinel ; the least noise seemed like the swift steps of the sentinel. Some seconds passed ; the country lay in peace. Dominique ought to be across. Francoise saw nothing more. The silence was profound. Then Francoise heard a hoarse cry, and the dull thud of a body. The silence became deeper; then, as if she had felt death passing, she remained frozen and motionless in the face of the night. At daybreak the miller sought Francoise’s chamber and opened the door. She came down into the court pale and ca,n >. B * le could not repress a shudder when she 'awthe body of a Prussian aoldier lying under a stained

Around the body soldiers cried and gesticulated full of fury. The officer called for Merlier as mayor of the commune.

* See,' said he, stifling with anger, ‘ one of our men found assassinated by the river. I shall make an example of this, and I call upon you to help us to discover the murderer.’ ‘As you will,’ answered the miller, ‘but it will not be easy.’ The officer turned down a corner of the cloak which covered the body. The sentinel had his throat cut and the knife remained in the wound. It was a black-handled kitchen knife.

‘ Look at that knife and then help us in the search.’ The old man started, but recovered himself and answered without moving a muscle : • Everybody has knives like that in our country. Perhaps the man was tired of fighting and ended the matter himself.’

‘ Silence !’ said the officer angrily. ‘ I don’t know what keeps me from setting fire to the four corners of this village.’ His anger prevented his noticing the change in Francoise’s face. She could not keep her eyes from the corpse stretched almost at her feet. He was a big fellow, who looked like Dominique with his blue eyes and fair hair. This resemblance pierced her heart Perhaps afar in Germany some loving one would weep. She recognized the knife. She ha<l killed him.

When they discovered Dominique’s flight there was terrible tumult. The officer went into the room, examined the window, and returned furious.

Father Merlier even was annoyed at Dominique s flight. ‘ The foolish boy, he will ruin everything.’ Francoise heard him with anguish. He did not suspect her complicity. ‘ The scoundrel ! the scoundrel !’ said the officer, ‘ but we will find him, and the village shall pay for it. Do you know where he is ?’ to the miller. Merlier laughed silently, and pointed to the extent of the wood. ‘ How can you find a man there ?’ he said. ‘ Oh, he has haunts that you know. I will give you ten men. You shall guide them.’

‘ It would take eight days to beat those woods.’ The calmness of the old man enraged the officer. At this moment he saw Francoise, pale and trembling. The anxious attitude of the young girl struck him. He was silent—looking from her to the old man. ‘ls this man the lover of your daughter ’’ he asked brutally. Merlier became livid. He drew himself up, but did not answer. Francoise took his face between her hands. ‘I see,’said the officer, ‘your girl has helped him to escape. You are her accomplice. Once more, will you give him up ?’ The miller did not answer. He looked away indifferently, as if he had not been addressed. The officer was overcome with anger. ‘ Very well. You shall be shot in his place.’ Again he gave orders for the file of soldiers. Merlier shrugged his shoulders phlegmatically ; all this drama seemed in doubtful taste. He did not believe that men were shot so easily. When the soldiers had come he said gravely : ‘ Then this is serious. Very well, if it must be, las well as another.’

Francoise sprang up wildly supplicating : ‘ Pity, monsieur, pity. Do not harm my father. Kill me in his place. I alone am to blame.'

‘Be silent, my child,’ said the old man. ‘ Why do you say what is not true. She spent the night in her chamber, monsieur, I assure you.’ ‘ No, I speak the truth,’ she replied, ‘ I climbed down to his window, I made him go. It is the truth, the only truth.’

The old man grew pale. He saw that it was true, this astounding story. Ah, these children with their hearts, they spoil everything. ‘ She is beside herself, she does not know what she says. Let us end this.’

She still protested, threw herself on her knees, and clasped her hands. The officer listened. ‘My God ! finish this. I take your father, because I have not the other. Find him and your father shall be free.’ ‘ Horrible, horrible ! where can I find Dominique at this hour ? He is gone, I know no more.’ ‘ Choose. He or your father.’

‘ Oh, my God ! How can I choose ! If I knew where Dominique was, how could I choose ’ My heart will break. Let me die, the sooner the better. Kill me I beg of you, kill me.'

The officer became impatient. ‘ Enough. I do not desire to be cruel. I will give you two hours. If in two hours your lover is not here your father shall pay for him.’ Merlier was led into Dominique's prison. His face showed no emotion. But when he was alone two great tears rolled down his cheeks. His poor child, how she suffered !

Francoise stood in the middle of the court. The soldiers passed her with pleasantries she could not understand. She hail two hours. This phrase rang in her head. Where to go, what to do ? Mechanically she went toward the river and crossed it on the big rocks. She saw a spot of blood on the shore and turned pale. She followed the traces of Dominique in the disturbed grasses, that led across the meadow into the wood. There they ended. She threw herself into the wood ; she sat down a moment. How long had she been gone, five minutes, a half hour? She sprang to her feet. Perhaps Dominique was hid in a dell where they had gathered nuts together. A lark flew by uttering its sweet sad note. Perhaps he had taken refuge in the rocks. She sought him there ; the desire to find him took possession of her ; she would climb a tree and look. She sought for one, calling his name everj’ few steps. Only the cuckoos answered her. < »nce she thought she saw him, she stopped. No, she could not take him beck to be shot. She would not tell him. She would beg him to go on, to save himself. Then she thought of her father, and what awaited him. She fell on the turf crying out : ‘ My God I my God ! why am I here !’ Frantically she sought to fly from the forest. Three times when she believed she had found the mill she came out on the prairie. At last she saw the village and stopped. How could she go back alone ?

She stood a moment ; a voice called sweetly, ‘ Francoise, Francoise.'

She saw Dominique lifting his head out of a ditch. She had found him. Heaven then wished his death. She cried out, and fell in the ditch. ‘ You want me?’ • Yes,’ she answered, not knowing what she said. ‘ What has happened ?’ Her eyes fell, she murmured : • Nothing, nothing. I was restless. I wanted to see you.’ When she was quiet he explained that he was not going away lest the Prussians be revenged on them. All would be well, and, he added, laughing : ‘Our wedding will be a week later, that is all.'

Then, as she remained bewildered, he became grave. ‘ You are concealing something.’ ‘ No, I swear it, I ran away to come here.' He embraced her and told her it was imprudent for them to remain longer there. He must go into the forest. She held him shuddering.

‘ Listen. You had better stay here :no one seeks you. Fear nothing.’ ‘ Francoise, you conceal something,’ he repeated. Again she denied it, only she wanted to be near him ; she evaded him, she appeared so strange, that now he refused to leave her, otherwise he would seek the French troops ; he had seen some on the other side ot Sauval. ‘ Ah, they come, they will soon be here,'she murmured eagerly.

The clock of Rocreuse sounded eleven. The strokes were clear, distinct. She was terrified. It was two hours since she hail left the mill.

‘ Listen. If we have need of you I will wave a handkerchief from my window.’ She ran and left him. Dominique, uneasy, walked along the border of the diteh toward the mill.

As she ran toward Rocreuse Francoise met an old beggar, Bontemps, who knew the country thoroughly. He greeted her, he had just seen the miller in the hands of the Prussians : he made the sign of the cross and passed on.

‘ The two hours are up,’ said the officer when Francoise appeared. Merlier was there, on a bench, still smoking. Again the young girl begged and wept on her knees ; she wanted to gain time in the hope that the French would arrive. As she implored, she thought she could hear the tramp of the soldiers. Oh ! if they would but come and deliver them ! ‘ But one hour, one hour more, grant me but one hour ?’

The officer was immovable. He ordered two men to take her out, that the execution might proceed quietly. A frightful struggle rent her heart. She could not kill her father. No, she would die instead with Dominique ; she started to her chamber—and at that moment Dominique entered the door.

The officer and soldiers gave a cry of triumph. But as if only Francoise was there, he went toward her gravely. ‘ This was not well. Why did you not bring me back ? It was left for Father Bontemps to tell me. Here I am.’ The Prussians shut Dominique up without saying what fate was in store for him. Francoise, overwhelmed with anguish, remained in the court, despite the wishes of her father. She expected the French. But the hours ran by, and night was coming on. At length the Prussians made preparations for departure. The officer, as the evening before, entered Dominique's room. Francoise knew that his fate was decided. She clasped her hands and prayed. Her father at her side kept the silent, rigid attitude of an old peasant who knows he cannot struggle against fate. ‘ Oh, my God, my God !’ mnrmured Francoise, ‘ they will kill him.’

The miller drew her toward him and took her on his knees like a child.

The officer came out ; behind him two men led Domi nique.

‘ Never, never,' said he ; ‘I am ready to die.’ ‘Reflect,' said the officer, ‘this service you refuse me another will give. I offer you your life. I am generous. Guide us through the wood to Montredon.’

Dominique did not answer. ‘ Why are you so obstinate ?’ ‘ Kill me. Let us finish this,’ he replied. Francoise, with clasped hands, besought him. She would have agreed even to dishonour. Merlier took her hands so that the Prussians should not see her wild gestures.

‘He is right,' murmured he. ‘ Death is better. The file of soldiers was there ; the officer waited for some sign of weakness on Dominique’s part. All were silent. Afar were heard violent strokes of thunder ; a dull heat oppressed them. In the midst of this silence was a cry ‘ The French ! the F'reneh !’

On the road to Sauval, along the edge of the wood, could be seen a line of red pantaloons. All was confusion in the mill. The Prussians ran here and there with guttural exclamations.

‘ The French ! the French !’ cried Francoise, clapping her hands.

She was like one demented. She broke from her father's arms, and ran about laughing and waving her arms. Tney would come, they would come in time. Dominique would live.

The sound of firing startled her like a thunder clap. She t urned. The officer said :

‘ First, let us finish this affair.’ With his own hand he pressed Dominique against the wall of the stable and gave the order to fire. Then Francoise saw Dominique, his breast pierced by a dozen balls.

She did not weep ; she stood dazed, her eyes fixed on the stable ; occasionally she made a wondering, childlike movement of the hand. The Prussians had seized the miller as a hostage. It was a fine light. The officer could not retreat ;he must sell his life as dearly as possible. It was the Prussians who now defended the mill and the French who now attacked it. F'or a half-hour the fusilade continued.

The French posted a battery in the ditch below, that had concealed Dominique. The struggle now would not be long.

Ah, the poor mill, the balls pieiced it through and through The ivy torn from the crumbling walls hung like caterpillars. The Moselle carried away the chamber of Francoise ; it was torn open exposing the bed with its white curtains. Suddenly the old wheel received two balls and

gave one supreme groan ; the paddles floated off, the framework fell ; the soul of the mill had passed away. Then the French made an assault. The fight raged furiously, hemmed in by the forest, like the walls of an amphitheatre around the combatants. Francoise remained motionless, bent over the dead body of Dominique. Father Merlier lay dead, struck by a wandering ball. Then, when the Prussians were exterminated and the mill in Hames, the French captainonce more entered the court. It was his first success. Flushed with excitement, his tall height seemed to increase, he laughed with the pleasant air of a gay cavalier, and seeing Francoise demented between the bodies of her lover and her father, lying among the smoking ruins of the mill, he saluted her gaily with his sword, crying -. ‘ Victory, victory !’