appeared.
Pere Merlier was there, seated upon the bench beside the well. He
was smoking. The young girl again begged, wept, sank on her knees.
She wished to gain time. The hope of
seeing the French return had
increased in her, and while lamenting she thought she heard in the
distance, the measured tramp of an army. Oh, if they would come, if
they would deliver them all?
"Listen, monsieur," she said: "an hour, another hour; you can grant
us another hour!"
But the officer remained inflexible. He even ordered two men to
seize her and take her away, that they might quietly proceed with
the
execution of the old man. Then a
frightful struggle took place
in Francoise's heart. She could not allow her father to be thus
assassinated. No, no; she would die rather with Dominique. She was
running toward her
chamber when Dominique himself entered the
courtyard.
The officer and the soldiers uttered a shout of
triumph. But the
young man,
calmly, with a somewhat
severe look, went up to
Francoise, as if she had been the only person present.
"You did wrong," he said. "Why did you not bring me back? It
remained for Pere Bontemps to tell me everything. But I am here!"
CHAPTER V
THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH
It was three o'clock in the afternoon. Great black clouds, the
trail of some
neighboring storm, had slowly filled the sky. The
yellow heavens, the brass covered uniforms, had changed the
valleyof Rocreuse, so gay in the
sunlight, into a den of cutthroats full
of
sinister gloom. The Prussian officer had
contented himself with
causing Dominique to be imprisoned without announcing what fate he
reserved for him. Since noon Francoise had been torn by terrible
anguish. Despite her father's entreaties she would not quit the
courtyard. She was awaiting the French. But the hours sped on;
night was approaching, and she suffered the more as all the time
gained did not seem to be likely to change the
frightful denouement.
About three o'clock the Prussians made their preparations for
departure. For an
instant past the officer had, as on the previous
day, shut himself up with Dominique. Francoise realized that the
young man's life was in balance. She clasped her hands; she prayed.
Pere Merlier, beside her, maintained silence and the rigid attitude
of an old
peasant who does not struggle against fate.
"Oh, MON DIEU! Oh, MON DIEU!" murmured Francoise. "They are going
to kill him!"
The
miller drew her to him and took her on his knees as if she had
been a child.
At that moment the officer came out, while behind him two men
brought Dominique.
"Never! Never!" cried the latter. "I am ready to die!"
"Think well," resumed the officer. "The service you refuse me
another will render us. I am
generous: I offer you your life. I
want you simply to guide us through the forest to Montredon. There
must be pathways leading there."
Dominique was silent.
"So you
persist in your infatuation, do you?"
"Kill me and end all this!" replied the young man.
Francoise, her hands clasped, supplicated him from afar. She had
forgotten everything; she would have advised him to
commit an act of
cowardice. But Pere Merlier seized her hands that the Prussians
might not see her wild gestures.
"He is right," he whispered: "it is better to die!"
The platoon of
execution was there. The officer awaited a sign of
weakness on Dominique's part. He still expected to
conquer him. No
one spoke. In the distance
violent crashes of
thunder were heard.
Oppressive heat weighed upon the country. But suddenly, amid the
silence, a cry broke forth:
"The French! The French!"
Yes, the French were at hand. Upon the Sauval
highway, at the edge
of the wood, the line of red pantaloons could be
distinguished. In
the mill there was an
extraordinaryagitation. The Prussian
soldiers ran
hither and t
hither with guttural exclamations. Not a
shot had yet been fired.
"The French! The French!" cried Francoise, clapping her hands.
She was wild with joy. She escaped from her father's grasp; she
laughed and tossed her arms in the air. At last they had come and
come in time, since Dominique was still alive!
A terrible platoon fire, which burst upon her ears like a clap of
thunder, caused her to turn. The officer muttered between his
teeth:
"Before everything, let us settle this affair!"
And with his own hand pushing Dominique against the wall of a shed
he ordered his men to fire. When Francoise looked Dominique lay
upon the ground with blood streaming from his neck and shoulders.
She did not weep; she stood stupefied. Her eyes grew fixed, and she
sat down under the shed, a few paces from the body. She stared at
it, wringing her hands. The Prussians had seized Pere Merlier as a
hostage.
It was a
stirringcombat. The officer had rapidly posted his men,
comprehending that he could not beat a
retreat without being cut to
pieces. Hence he would fight to the last. Now the Prussians
defended the mill, and the French attacked it. The fusillade began
with
unusualviolence. For half an hour it did not cease. Then a
hollow sound was heard, and a ball broke a main branch of the old
elm. The French had
cannon. A
battery, stationed just above the
ditch in which Dominique had
hidden himself, swept the wide street
of Rocreuse. The struggle could not last long.
Ah, the poor mill! Balls pierced it in every part. Half of the
roof was carried away. Two walls were battered down. But it was on
the side of the Morelle that the
destruction was most lamentable.
The ivy, torn from the tottering
edifice, hung like rags; the river
was encumbered with wrecks of all kinds, and through a
breach was
visible Francoise's
chamber with its bed, the white curtains of
which were carefully closed. Shot followed shot; the old wheel
received two balls and gave vent to an agonizing groan; the buckets
were borne off by the current; the
framework was crushed. The soul
of the gay mill had left it!
Then the French began the
assault. There was a
furious fight with
swords and bayonets. Beneath the rust-colored sky the
valley was
choked with the dead. The broad meadows had a wild look with their
tall, isolated trees and their hedges of poplars which stained them
with shade. To the right and to the left the forests were like the
walls of an ancient ampitheater which enclosed the fighting
gladiators, while the springs, the fountains and the flowing brooks
seemed to sob amid the panic of the country.
Beneath the shed Francoise still sat near Dominique's body; she had
not moved. Pere Merlier had received a slight wound. The Prussians
were exterminated, but the ruined mill was on fire in a dozen
places. The French rushed into the
courtyard, headed by their
captain. It was his first success of the war. His face beamed with
triumph. He waved his sword, shouting:
"Victory! Victory!"
On
seeing the wounded
miller, who was endeavoring to comfort
Francoise, and noticing the body of Dominique, his
joyous look
changed to one of
sadness. Then he knelt beside the young man and,
tearing open his
blouse, put his hand to his heart.
"Thank God!" he cried. "It is yet beating! Send for the
surgeon!"
At the captain's words Francoise leaped to her feet.
"There is hope!" she cried. "Oh, tell me there is hope!"
At that moment the
surgeon appeared. He made a hasty examination
and said:
"The young man is
severely hurt, but life is not
extinct; he can be
saved!" By the
surgeon's orders Dominique was transported to a
neighboringcottage, where he was placed in bed. His wounds were
dressed; restoratives were administered, and he soon recovered
consciousness. When he opened his eyes he saw Francoise sitting
beside him and through the open window caught sight of Pere Merlier
talking with the French captain. He passed his hand over his
forehead with a bewildered air and said:
"They did not kill me after all!"
"No," replied Francoise. "The French came, and their
surgeon saved
you."
Pere Merlier turned and said through the window:
"No talking yet, my young ones!"
In due time Dominique was entirely restored, and when peace again
blessed the land he
wedded his
beloved Francoise.
The mill was rebuilt, and Pere Merlier had a new wheel upon which to
bestow
whatevertenderness was not engrossed by his daughter and her
husband.
End