took her by the arm with paternalgentleness. He led her to her
chamber.

"Be calm," he said, "and try to sleep. Tomorrow, when it is light,
we will see what can be done."

As he withdrew he prudently locked her in. It was his opinion that
women were good for nothing and that they spoiled everything when

they took a hand in a serious affair. But Francoise did not retire.
She sat for a long while upon the side of her bed, listening to the

noises of the house. The German soldiers encamped in the courtyard
sang and laughed; they must have been eating and drinking until

eleven o'clock, for the racket did not cease an instant. In the
mill itself heavy footsteps resounded from time to time, without

doubt those of the sentinels who were being relieved. But she was
interested most by the sounds she could distinguish in the apartment

beneath her chamber. Many times she stretched herself out at full
length and put her ear to the floor. That apartment was the one in

which Dominique was confined. He must have been walking back and
forth from the window to the wall, for she long heard the regular

cadence of his steps. Then deep silence ensued; he had doubtless
seated himself. Finally every noise ceased and all was as if

asleep. When slumber appeared to her to have settled on the house
she opened her window as gently as possible and leaned her elbows on

the sill.
Without, the night had a warm serenity. The slendercrescent of the

moon, which was sinking behind the forest of Sauval, lit up the
country with the glimmer of a night lamp. The lengthened shadows of

the tall trees barred the meadows with black, while the grass in
uncovered spots assumed the softness of greenishvelvet. But

Francoise did not pause to admire the mysterious charms of the
night. She examined the country, searching for the sentinels whom

the Germans had posted obliquely. She clearly saw their shadows
extending like the rounds of a ladder along the Morelle. Only one

was before the mill, on the other shore of the river, beside a
willow, the branches of which dipped in the water. Francoise saw

him plainly. He was a tall man and was standingmotionless, his
face turned toward the sky with the dreamy air of a shepherd.

When she had carefully inspected the locality she again seated
herself on her bed. She remained there an hour, deeply absorbed.

Then she listened once more: there was not a sound in the mill. She
returned to the window and glanced out, but doubtless one of the

horns of the moon, which was still visible behind the trees, made
her uneasy, for she resumed her waiting attitude. At last she

thought the proper time had come. The night was as black as jet;
she could no longer see the sentinel opposite; the country spread

out like a pool of ink. She strained her ear for an instant and
made her decision. Passing near the window was an iron ladder, the

bars fastened to the wall, which mounted from the wheel to the
garret and formerly enabled the millers to reach certain machinery;

afterward the mechanism had been altered, and for a long while the
ladder had been hidden under the thick ivy which covered that side

of the mill.
Francoise bravely climbed out of her window and grasped one of the

bars of the ladder. She began to descend. Her skirts embarrassed
her greatly. Suddenly a stone was detached from the wall and fell

into the Morelle with a loud splash. She stopped with an icy shiver
of fear. Then she realized that the waterfall with its continuous

roar would drown every noise she might make, and she descended more
courageously, feeling the ivy with her foot, assuring herself that

the rounds were firm. When she was at the height of the chamber
which served as Dominique's prison she paused. An unforeseen

difficulty nearly caused her to lose all her courage: the window of
the chamber was not directly below that of her apartment. She hung

off from the ladder, but when she stretched out her arm her hand
encountered only the wall. Must she, then, ascend without pushing

her plan to completion? Her arms were fatigued; the murmur of the
Morelle beneath her commenced to make her dizzy. Then she tore from

the wall little fragments of plaster and threw them against
Dominique's window. He did not hear; he was doubtless asleep. She

crumbled more plaster from the wall, scraping the skin off her
fingers. She was utterly exhausted; she felt herself falling

backward, when Dominique at last softly opened the window.
"It is I!" she murmured. "Catch me quickly; I'm falling!"

It was the first time that she had addressed him familiarly.
Leaning out, he seized her and drew her into the chamber. There she

gave vent to a flood of tears, stifling her sobs that she might not
be heard. Then by a supreme effort she calmed herself.

"Are you guarded?" she asked in a low voice.
Dominique, still stupefied at seeing her thus, nodded his head

affirmatively, pointing to the door. On the other side they heard
someone snoring; the sentinel, yielding to sleep, had thrown himself

on the floor against the door, arguing that by disposing himself
thus the prisoner could not escape.

"You must fly," resumed Francoise excitedly. "I have come to beg
you to do so and to bid you farewell."

But he did not seem to hear her. He repeated:
"What? Is it you; is it you? Oh, what fear you caused me! You

might have killed yourself!"
He seized her hands; he kissed them.

"How I love you, Francoise!" he murmured. "You are as courageous as
good. I had only one dread: that I should die without seeing you

again. But you are here, and now they can shoot me. When I have
passed a quarter of an hour with you I shall be ready."

Little by little he had drawn her to him, and she leaned her head
upon his shoulder. The danger made them dearer to each other. They

forgot everything in that warm clasp.
"Ah, Francoise," resumed Dominique in a caressing voice, "this is

Saint Louis's Day, the day, so long awaited, of our marriage.
Nothing has been able to separate us, since we are both here alone,

faithful to the appointment. Is not this our wedding morning?"
"Yes, yes," she repeated, "it is our wedding morning."

They tremblingly exchanged a kiss. But all at once she disengaged
herself from Dominique's arms; she remembered the terrible reality.

"You must fly; you must fly," she whispered. "There is not a minute
to be lost!"

And as he stretched out his arms in the darkness to clasp her again,
she said tenderly:

"Oh, I implore you to listen to me! If you die I shall die also!
In an hour it will be light. I want you to go at once."

Then rapidly she explained her plan. The iron ladderdescended to
the mill wheel; there he could climb down the buckets and get into

the boat which was hidden away in a nook. Afterward it would be
easy for him to reach the other bank of the river and escape.

"But what of the sentinels?" he asked.
"There is only one, opposite, at the foot of the first willow."

"What if he should see me and attempt to give an alarm?"
Francoise shivered. She placed in his hand a knife she had brought

with her. There was a brief silence.
"What is to become of your father and yourself?" resumed Domiriique.

"No, I cannot fly! When I am gone those soldiers will, perhaps,
massacre you both! You do not know them. They offered me my life

if I would consent to guide them through the forest of Sauval. When
they discover my escape they will be capable of anything!"

The young girl did not stop to argue. She said simply in reply to
all the reasons he advanced:

"Out of love for me, fly! If you love me, Dominique, do not remain
here another moment!"

Then she promised to climb back to her chamber. No one would know
that she had helped him. She finally threw her arms around him to

convince him with an embrace, with a burst of extraordinary love.
He was vanquished. He asked but one more question: