Chapter III. The Flight

by Emile Zola

　　It was a settled rule of the German staff that every Frenchman, notbelonging to the regular army, taken with arms in his hands shouldbe shot. The militia companies themselves were not recognized asbelligerents. By thus making terrible examples of the peasants whodefended their homes, the Germans hoped to prevent the levy enmasse, which they feared.

　　The officer, a tall, lean man of fifty, briefly questionedDominique. Although he spoke remarkably pure French he had astiffness altogether Prussian.

　　"Do you belong to this district?" he asked.

　　"No; I am a Belgian," answered the young man.

　　"Why then did you take up arms? The fighting did not concern you!"

　　Dominique made no reply. At that moment the officer saw Francoisewho was standing by, very pale, listening; upon her white foreheadher slight wound had put a red bar. He looked at the young folks,one after the other, seemed to understand matters and contentedhimself with adding:

　　"You do not deny having fired, do you?"

　　"I fired as often as I could!" responded Dominique tranquilly.

　　This confession was useless, for he was black with powder, coveredwith sweat and stained with a few drops of blood which had flowedfrom the scratch on his shoulder.

　　"Very well," said the officer. "You will be shot in two hours!"

　　Francoise did not cry out. She clasped her hands and raised themwith a gesture of mute despair. The officer noticed this gesture.Two soldiers had taken Dominique to a neighboring apartment, wherethey were to keep watch over him. The young girl had fallen upon achair, totally overcome; she could not weep; she was suffocating.The officer had continued to examine her. At last he spoke to her.

　　"Is that young man your brother?" he demanded.

　　She shook her head negatively. The German stood stiffly on his feetwith out a smile. Then after a short silence he again asked:

　　"Has he lived long in the district?"

　　She nodded affirmatively.

　　"In that case, he ought to be thoroughly acquainted with theneighboring forests."

　　This time she spoke.

　　"He is thoroughly acquainted with them, monsieur," she said, lookingat him with considerable surprise.

　　He said nothing further to her but turned upon his heel, demandingthat the mayor of the village should be brought to him. ButFrancoise had arisen with a slight blush on her countenance;thinking that she had seized the aim of the officer's questions, shehad recovered hope. She herself ran to find her father.

　　Pere Merlier, as soon as the firing had ceased, had quicklydescended to the wooden gallery to examine his wheel. He adored hisdaughter; he had a solid friendship for Dominique, his future son-in-law, but his wheel also held a large place in his heart. Sincethe two young ones, as he called them, had come safe and sound outof the fight, he thought of his other tenderness, which had sufferedgreatly. Bent over the huge wooden carcass, he was studying itswounds with a sad air. Five buckets were shattered to pieces; thecentral framework was riddled. He thrust his fingers in the bulletholes to measure their depth; he thought how he could repair allthese injuries. Francoise found him already stopping up the cleftswith rubbish and moss.

　　"Father," she said, "you are wanted."

　　And she wept at last as she told him what she had just heard. PereMerlier tossed his head. People were not shot in such a summaryfashion. The matter must be looked after. He re-entered the millwith his silent and tranquil air. When the officer demanded of himprovisions for his men he replied that the inhabitants of Rocreusewere not accustomed to be treated roughly and that nothing would beobtained from them if violence were employed. He would see toeverything but on condition that he was not interfered with. Theofficer at first seemed irritated by his calm tone; then he gave waybefore the old man's short and clear words. He even called him backand asked him:

　　"What is the name of that wood opposite?"

　　"The forest of Sauval."

　　"What is its extent?"

　　The miller looked at him fixedly.

　　"I do not know," he answered.

　　And he went away. An hour later the contribution of war inprovisions and money, demanded by the officer, was in the courtyardof the mill. Night came on. Francoise watched with anxiety themovements of the soldiers. She hung about the room in whichDominique was imprisoned. Toward seven o'clock she experienced apoignant emotion. She saw the officer enter the prisoner'sapartment and for a quarter of an hour heard their voices in loudconversation. For an instant the officer reappeared upon thethreshold to give an order in German, which she did not understand,but when twelve men ranged themselves in the courtyard, their gunson their shoulders, she trembled and felt as if about to faint. Allthen was over: the execution was going to take place. The twelvemen stood there ten minutes, Dominique's voice continuing to beraised in a tone of violent refusal. Finally the officer came out,saying, as he roughly shut the door:

　　"Very well; reflect. I give you until tomorrow morning.'

　　And with a gesture he ordered the twelve men to break ranks.Francoise was stupefied. Pere Merlier, who had been smoking hispipe and looking at the platoon simply with an air of curiosity,took her by the arm with paternal gentleness. He led her to herchamber.

　　"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 thatwomen were good for nothing and that they spoiled everything whenthey 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 thenoises of the house. The German soldiers encamped in the courtyardsang and laughed; they must have been eating and drinking untileleven o'clock, for the racket did not cease an instant. In themill itself heavy footsteps resounded from time to time, withoutdoubt those of the sentinels who were being relieved. But she wasinterested most by the sounds she could distinguish in the apartmentbeneath her chamber. Many times she stretched herself out at fulllength and put her ear to the floor. That apartment was the one inwhich Dominique was confined. He must have been walking back andforth from the window to the wall, for she long heard the regularcadence of his steps. Then deep silence ensued; he had doubtlessseated himself. Finally every noise ceased and all was as ifasleep. When slumber appeared to her to have settled on the houseshe opened her window as gently as possible and leaned her elbows onthe sill.

　　Without, the night had a warm serenity. The slender crescent of themoon, which was sinking behind the forest of Sauval, lit up thecountry with the glimmer of a night lamp. The lengthened shadows ofthe tall trees barred the meadows with black, while the grass inuncovered spots assumed the softness of greenish velvet. ButFrancoise did not pause to admire the mysterious charms of thenight. She examined the country, searching for the sentinels whomthe Germans had posted obliquely. She clearly saw their shadowsextending like the rounds of a ladder along the Morelle. Only onewas before the mill, on the other shore of the river, beside awillow, the branches of which dipped in the water. Francoise sawhim plainly. He was a tall man and was standing motionless, hisface turned toward the sky with the dreamy air of a shepherd.

　　When she had carefully inspected the locality she again seatedherself on her bed. She remained there an hour, deeply absorbed.Then she listened once more: there was not a sound in the mill. Shereturned to the window and glanced out, but doubtless one of thehorns of the moon, which was still visible behind the trees, madeher uneasy, for she resumed her waiting attitude. At last shethought the proper time had come. The night was as black as jet;she could no longer see the sentinel opposite; the country spreadout like a pool of ink. She strained her ear for an instant andmade her decision. Passing near the window was an iron ladder, thebars fastened to the wall, which mounted from the wheel to thegarret and formerly enabled the millers to reach certain machinery;afterward the mechanism had been altered, and for a long while theladder had been hidden under the thick ivy which covered that sideof the mill.

　　Francoise bravely climbed out of her window and grasped one of thebars of the ladder. She began to descend. Her skirts embarrassedher greatly. Suddenly a stone was detached from the wall and fellinto the Morelle with a loud splash. She stopped with an icy shiverof fear. Then she realized that the waterfall with its continuousroar would drown every noise she might make, and she descended morecourageously, feeling the ivy with her foot, assuring herself thatthe rounds were firm. When she was at the height of the chamberwhich served as Dominique's prison she paused. An unforeseendifficulty nearly caused her to lose all her courage: the window ofthe chamber was not directly below that of her apartment. She hungoff from the ladder, but when she stretched out her arm her handencountered only the wall. Must she, then, ascend without pushingher plan to completion? Her arms were fatigued; the murmur of theMorelle beneath her commenced to make her dizzy. Then she tore fromthe wall little fragments of plaster and threw them againstDominique's window. He did not hear; he was doubtless asleep. Shecrumbled more plaster from the wall, scraping the skin off herfingers. She was utterly exhausted; she felt herself fallingbackward, 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 shegave vent to a flood of tears, stifling her sobs that she might notbe 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 headaffirmatively, pointing to the door. On the other side they heardsomeone snoring; the sentinel, yielding to sleep, had thrown himselfon the floor against the door, arguing that by disposing himselfthus the prisoner could not escape.

　　"You must fly," resumed Francoise excitedly. "I have come to begyou 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! Youmight have killed yourself!"

　　He seized her hands; he kissed them.

　　"How I love you, Francoise!" he murmured. "You are as courageous asgood. I had only one dread: that I should die without seeing youagain. But you are here, and now they can shoot me. When I havepassed a quarter of an hour with you I shall be ready."

　　Little by little he had drawn her to him, and she leaned her headupon his shoulder. The danger made them dearer to each other. Theyforgot everything in that warm clasp.

　　"Ah, Francoise," resumed Dominique in a caressing voice, "this isSaint 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 disengagedherself from Dominique's arms; she remembered the terrible reality.

　　"You must fly; you must fly," she whispered. "There is not a minuteto 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 ladder descended tothe mill wheel; there he could climb down the buckets and get intothe boat which was hidden away in a nook. Afterward it would beeasy 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 broughtwith 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 lifeif I would consent to guide them through the forest of Sauval. Whenthey discover my escape they will be capable of anything!"

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

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

　　Then she promised to climb back to her chamber. No one would knowthat she had helped him. She finally threw her arms around him toconvince him with an embrace, with a burst of extraordinary love.He was vanquished. He asked but one more question:

　　"Can you swear to me that your father knows what you have done andthat he advises me to fly?"

　　"My father sent me!" answered Francoise boldly.

　　She told a falsehood. At that moment she had only one immense need:to know that he was safe, to escape from the abominable thought thatthe sun would be the signal for his death. When he was far awayevery misfortune might fall upon her; that would seem delightful toher from the moment he was secure. The selfishness of hertenderness desired that he should live before everything.

　　"Very well," said Dominique; "I will do what you wish."

　　They said nothing more. Dominique reopened the window. Butsuddenly a sound froze them. The door was shaken, and they thoughtthat it was about to be opened. Evidently a patrol had heard theirvoices. Standing locked in each other's arms, they waited inunspeakable anguish. The door was shaken a second time, but it didnot open. They uttered low sighs of relief; they comprehended thatthe soldier who was asleep against the door must have turned over.In fact, silence succeeded; the snoring was resumed.

　　Dominique exacted that Francoise should ascend to her chamber beforehe departed. He clasped her in his arms and bade her a mute adieu.Then he aided her to seize the ladder and clung to it in his turn.But he refused to descend a single round until convinced that shewas in her apartment. When Francoise had entered her window she letfall in a voice as light as a breath:

　　"Au revoir, my love!"

　　She leaned her elbows on the sill and strove to follow Dominiquewith her eyes. The night was yet very dark. She searched for thesentinel but could not see him; the willow alone made a pale stainin the midst of the gloom. For an instant she heard the soundproduced by Dominique's body in passing along the ivy. Then thewheel cracked, and there was a slight agitation in the water whichtold her that the young man had found the boat. A moment afterwardshe distinguished the somber silhouette of the bateau on the graysurface of the Morelle. Terrible anguish seized upon her. Eachinstant she thought she heard the sentinel's cry of alarm; thesmallest sounds scattered through the gloom seemed to her thehurried tread of soldiers, the clatter of weapons, the charging ofguns. Nevertheless, the seconds elapsed and the country maintainedits profound peace. Dominique must have reached the other side ofthe river. Francoise saw nothing more. The silence was majestic.She heard a shuffling of feet, a hoarse cry and the hollow fall of abody. Afterward the silence grew deeper. Then as if she had feltDeath pass by, she stood, chilled through and through, staring intothe thick night.