At dawn a clamor of voices shook the mill. Pere Merlier opened the door of Francoise’s chamber. She went down into the courtyard, pale and very calm. But there she could not repress a shiver as she saw the corpse of a Prussian soldier stretched out on a cloak beside the well.

Around the body troops gesticulated, uttering cries of fury. Many of them shook their fists at the village. Meanwhile the officer had summoned Pere Merlier as the mayor of the commune.

“Look!” he said to him in a voice almost choking with anger. “There lies one of our men who was found assassinated upon the bank of the river. We must make a terrible example, and I count on you to aid us in discovering the murderer.”

“As you choose,” answered the miller with his usual stoicism, “but you will find it no easy task.”

The officer stooped and drew aside a part of the cloak which hid the face of the dead man. Then appeared a horrible wound. The sentinel had been struck in the throat, and the weapon had remained in the cut. It was a kitchen knife with a black handle.

“Examine that knife,” said the officer to Pere Merlier; “perhaps it will help us in our search.”

The old man gave a start but recovered control of himself immediately. He replied without moving a muscle of his face:

“Everybody in the district has similar knives. Doubtless your man was weary of fighting and put an end to his own life. It looks like it!”

“Mind what you say!” cried the officer furiously. “I do not know what prevents me from setting fire to the four corners of the village!”

Happily in his rage he did not notice the deep trouble pictured on Francoise’s countenance. She had been forced to sit down on a stone bench near the well. Despite herself her eyes were fixed upon the corpse stretched our on the ground almost at her feet. It was that of a tall and handsome man who resembled Dominique, with flaxen hair and blue eyes. This resemblance made her heart ache. She thought that perhaps the dead soldier had left behind him in Germany a sweetheart who would weep her eyes out for him. She recognized her knife in the throat of the murdered man. She had killed him.

The officer was talking of striking Rocreuse with terrible measures, when soldiers came running to him. Dominique’s escape had just been discovered. It caused an extreme agitation. The officer went to the apartment in which the prisoner had been confined, looked out of the window which had remained open, understood everything and returned, exasperated.

Pere Merlier seemed greatly vexed by Dominique’s flight.

“The imbecile!” he muttered. “He has ruined all!”

Francoise heard him and was overcome with anguish. But the miller did not suspect her of complicity in the affair. He tossed his head, saying to her in an undertone:

“We are in a nice scrape!”

“It was that wretch who assassinated the soldier! I am sure of it!” cried the officer. “He has undoubtedly reached the forest. But he must be found for us or the village shall pay for him!”

Turning to the miller, he said:

“See here, you ought to know where he is hidden!”

Pere Merlier laughed silently, pointing to the wide stretch of wooden hills.

“Do you expect to find a man in there?” he said.

“Oh, there must be nooks there with which you are acquainted. I will give you ten men. You must guide them.”

“As you please. But it will take a week to search all the wood in the vicinity.”

The old man’s tranquillity enraged the officer. In fact, the latter comprehended the asburdity of this search. At that moment he saw Francoise, pale and trembling, on the bench. The anxious attitude of the young girl struck him. He was silent for an instant, during which he in turn examined the miller and his daughter.

At length he demanded roughly of the old man:

“Is not that fellow your child’s lover?”

Pere Merlier grew livid and seemed about to hurl himself upon the officer to strangle him. He stiffened himself but made no answer. Francoise buried her face in her hands.

“Yes, that’s it!” continued the Prussian. “And you or your daughter helped him to escape! One of you is his accomplice! For the last time, will you give him up to us?”

The miller uttered not a word. He turned away and looked into space with an air of indifference, as if the officer had not addressed him. This brought the latter’s rage to a head.

“Very well!” he shouted. “You shall be shot in his place!”

And he again ordered out the platoon of execution. Pere Merlier remained as stoical as ever. He hardly even shrugged his shoulders; all this drama appeared to him in bad taste. Without doubt he did not believe that they would shoot a man so lightly. But when the platoon drew up before him he said gravely:

“So it is serious, is it? Go on with your bloody work then! If you must have a victim I will do as well as another!”

But Francoise started up, terrified, stammering:

“In pity, monsieur, do no harm to my father! Kill me in his stead! I aided Dominique to fly! I alone am guilty!”

“Hush, my child!” cried Pere Merlier. “Why do you tell an untruth? She passed the night locked in her chamber, monsieur. She tells a falsehood, I assure you!”

“No, I do not tell a falsehood!” resumed the young girl ardently. “I climbed out of my window and went down the iron ladder; I urged Dominique to fly. This is the truth, the whole truth!”

The old man became very pale. He saw clearly in her eyes that she did not lie, and her story terrified him. Ah, these children with their hearts, how they spoil everything! Then he grew angry and exclaimed:

“She is mad; do not heed her. She tells you stupid tales. Come, finish your work!”

She still protested. She knelt, clasping her hands. The officer tranquilly watched this dolorous struggle.

“MON DIEU!” he said at last. “I take your father because I have not the other. Find the fugitive and the old man shall be set at liberty!”

She gazed at him with staring eyes, astonished at the atrocity of the proposition.

“How horrible!” she murmured. “Where do you think I can find Dominique at this hour? He has departed; I know no more about him.”

“Come, make your choice — him or your father.”

“Oh, MON DIEU! How can I choose? If I knew where Dominique was I could not choose! You are cutting my heart. I would rather die at once. Yes, it would be the sooner over. Kill me, I implore you, kill me!”

This scene of despair and tears finally made the officer impatient. He cried out:

“Enough! I will be merciful. I consent to give you two hours. If in that time your lover is not here your father will be shot in his place!”

He caused Pere Merlier to be taken to the chamber which had served as Dominique’s prison. The old man demanded tobacco and began to smoke. Upon his impassible face not the slightest emotion was visible. But when alone, as he smoked, he shed ............