Nana - Émile Zola (good books to read for young adults txt) 📗
- Author: Émile Zola
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brought in Dominique. Francoise at that moment was setting the
table. She did not seem astonished; she contented herself with
putting on an additional plate, knife and fork, but the little
dimples were again seen in her cheeks, and her smile reappeared.
That morning Pere Merlier had sought out Dominique in his hut on the
border of the wood.
There the two men had talked for three hours with doors and windows
closed. What was the purport of their conversation no one ever
knew. Certain it was, however, that Pere Merlier, on taking his
departure, already called Dominique his son-in-law. Without doubt
the old man had found the youth he had gone to seek a worthy youth
in the lazy fellow who stretched himself out upon the grass to make
the girls fall in love with him.
All Rocreuse clamored. The women at the doors had plenty to say on
the subject of the folly of Pere Merlier, who had thus introduced a
reprobate into his house. The miller let people talk on. Perhaps
he remembered his own marriage. He was without a sou when he wedded
Madeleine and her mill; this, however, had not prevented him from
making a good husband. Besides, Dominique cut short the gossip by
going so vigorously to work that all the district was amazed. The
miller’s assistant had just been drawn to serve as a soldier, and
Dominique would not suffer another to be engaged. He carried the
sacks, drove the cart, fought with the old mill wheel when it
refused to turn, and all this with such good will that people came
to see him out of curiosity. Pere Merlier had his silent laugh. He
was excessively proud of having formed a correct estimate of this
youth. There is nothing like love to give courage to young folks.
Amid all these heavy labors Francoise and Dominique adored each
other. They did not indulge in lovers’ talks, but there was a
smiling gentleness in their glances.
Up to that time Pere Merlier had not spoken a single word on the
subject of marriage, and they respected this silence, awaiting the
old man’s will. Finally one day toward the middle of July he caused
three tables to be placed in the courtyard, beneath the great elm,
and invited his friends of Rocreuse to come in the evening and drink
a glass of wine with him.
When the courtyard was full and all had their glasses in their
hands, Pere Merlier raised his very high and said:
“I have the pleasure to announce to you that Francoise will wed this
young fellow here in a month, on Saint Louis’s Day.”
Then they drank noisily. Everybody smiled. But Pere Merlier, again
lifting his voice, exclaimed:
“Dominique, embrace your fiancee. It is your right.”
They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, while all the
guests laughed joyously. It was a genuine fete. They emptied a
small cask of wine. Then when all were gone but intimate friends
the conversation was carried on without noise. The night had
fallen, a starry and cloudless night. Dominique and Francoise,
seated side by side on a bench, said nothing.
An old peasant spoke of the war the emperor had declared against
Prussia. All the village lads had already departed. On the
preceding day troops had again passed through the place. There was
going to be hard fighting.
“Bah!” said Pere Merlier with the selfishness of a happy man.
“Dominique is a foreigner; he will not go to the war. And if the
Prussians come here he will be on hand to defend his wife!”
The idea that the Prussians might come there seemed a good joke.
They were going to receive a sound whipping, and the affair would
soon be over.
“I have afready seen them; I have already seen them,” repeated the
old peasant in a hollow voice.
There was silence. Then they drank again. Francoise and Dominique
had heard nothing; they had gently taken each other by the hand
behind the bench, so that nobody could see them, and it seemed so
delightful that they remained where they were, their eyes plunged
into the depths of the shadows.
What a warm and superb night it was! The village slumbered on both
edges of the white highway in infantile quietude. From time to time
was heard the crowing of some chanticleer aroused too soon. From
the huge wood near by came long breaths, which passed over the roofs
like caresses. The meadows, with their dark shadows, assumed a
mysterious and dreamy majesty, while all the springs, all the
flowing waters which gurgled in the darkness, seemed to be the cool
and rhythmical respiration of the sleeping country. Occasionally
the ancient mill wheel, lost in a doze, appeared to dream like those
old watchdogs that bark while snoring; it cracked; it talked to
itself, rocked by the fall of the Morelle, the surface of which gave
forth the musical and continuous sound of an organ pipe. Never had
more profound peace descended upon a happier corner of nature.
THE ATTACK ON THE MILL
A month later, on the day preceding that of Saint Louis, Rocreuse
was in a state of terror. The Prussians had beaten the emperor and
were advancing by forced marches toward the village. For a week
past people who hurried along the highway had been announcing them
thus: “They are at Lormiere—they are at Novelles!” And on hearing
that they were drawing near so rapidly, Rocreuse every morning
expected to see them descend from the wood of Gagny. They did not
come, however, and that increased the fright. They would surely
fall upon the village during the night and slaughter everybody.
That morning, a little before sunrise, there was an alarm. The
inhabitants were awakened by the loud tramp of men on the highway.
The women were already on their knees, making the sign of the cross,
when some of the people, peering cautiously through the partially
opened windows, recognized the red pantaloons. It was a French
detachment. The captain immediately asked for the mayor of the
district and remained at the mill after having talked with Pere
Merlier.
The sun rose gaily that morning. It would be hot at noon. Over the
wood floated a golden brightness, while in the distance white vapors
arose from the meadows. The neat and pretty village awoke amid the
fresh air, and the country, with its river and its springs, had the
moist sweetness of a bouquet. But that beautiful day caused nobody
to smile. The captain was seen to take a turn around the mill,
examine the neighboring houses, pass to the other side of the
Morelle and from there study the district with a field glass; Pere
Merlier, who accompanied him, seemed to be giving him explanations.
Then the captain posted soldiers behind the walls, behind the trees
and in the ditches. The main body of the detachment encamped in the
courtyard of the mill. Was there going to be a battle? When Pere
Merlier returned he was questioned. He nodded his head without
speaking. Yes, there was going to be a battle!
Francoise and Dominique were in the courtyard; they looked at him.
At last he took his pipe from his mouth and said:
“Ah, my poor young ones, you cannot get married tomorrow!”
Dominique, his lips pressed together, with an angry frown on his
forehead, at times raised himself on tiptoe and fixed his eyes upon
the wood of Gagny, as if he wished to see the Prussians arrive.
Francoise, very pale and serious, came and went, furnishing the
soldiers with what they needed. The troops were making soup in a
corner of the courtyard; they joked while waiting for it to get
ready.
The captain was delighted. He had visited the chambers and the huge
hall of the mill which looked out upon the river. Now, seated
beside the well, he was conversing with Pere Merlier.
“Your mill is a real fortress,” he said. “We can hold it without
difficulty until evening. The bandits are late. They ought to be
here.”
The miller was grave. He saw his mill burning like a torch, but he
uttered no complaint, thinking such a course useless. He merely
said:
“You had better hide the boat behind the wheel; there is a place
there just fit for that purpose. Perhaps it will be useful to have
the boat.”
The captain gave the requisite order. This officer was a handsome
man of forty; he was tall and had an amiable countenance. The sight
of Francoise and Dominique seemed to please him. He contemplated
them as if he had forgotten the coming struggle. He followed
Francoise with his eyes, and his look told plainly that he thought
her charming. Then turning toward Dominique, he asked suddenly:
“Why are you not in the army, my good fellow?”
“I am a foreigner,” answered the young man.
The captain evidently did not attach much weight to this reason. He
winked his eye and smiled. Francoise was more agreeable company
than a cannon. On seeing him smile, Dominique added:
“I am a foreigner, but I can put a ball in an apple at five hundred
meters. There is my hunting gun behind you.”
“You may have use for it,” responded the captain dryly.
Francoise had approached, somewhat agitated. Without heeding the
strangers present Dominique took and grasped in his the two hands
she extended to him, as if to put herself under his protection. The
captain smiled again but said not a word. He remained seated, his
sword across his knees and his eyes plunged into space, lost in a
reverie.
It was already ten o’clock. The heat had become very great. A
heavy silence prevailed. In the courtyard, in the shadows of the
sheds, the soldiers had begun to eat their soup. Not a sound came
from the village; all its inhabitants had barricaded the doors and
windows of their houses. A dog, alone upon the highway, howled.
From the neighboring forests and meadows, swooning in the heat, came
a prolonged and distant voice made up of all the scattered breaths.
A cuckoo sang. Then the silence grew more intense.
Suddenly in that slumbering air a shot was heard. The captain
leaped briskly to his feet; the soldiers left their plates of soup,
yet half full. In a few seconds everybody was at the post of duty;
from bottom to top the mill was occupied. Meanwhile the captain,
who had gone out upon the road, had discovered nothing; to the right
and to the left the highway stretched out, empty and white. A
second shot was heard, and still nothing visible, not even a shadow.
But as he was returning the captain perceived in the direction of
Gagny, between two trees, a light puff of smoke whirling away like
thistledown. The wood was calm and peaceful.
“The bandits have thrown themselves into the forest,” he muttered.
“They know we are here.”
Then the firing continued, growing more and more vigorous, between
the French soldiers posted around the mill and the Prussians hidden
behind the trees. The balls whistled above the Morelle without
damaging either side. The fusillade was irregular, the shots coming
from every bush, and still only the little puffs of smoke, tossed
gently by the breeze, were seen. This lasted nearly two hours. The
officer hummed a tune with an air of indifference. Francoise and
Dominique, who had remained in the courtyard, raised themselves on
tiptoe and looked over a low wall. They were particularly
interested in a little soldier posted on the shore of the Morelle,
behind the remains of an old bateau; he stretched himself out flat
on
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