l --he fell----"

Emotion choked him so that he could say no more. If he had only known.

FATHER MILON

For a month the hot sun has been parching the fields. Nature is
expanding beneath its rays; the fields are green as far as the eye can
see. The big azure dome of the sky is unclouded. The farms of Normandy,
scattered over the plains and surrounded by a belt of tall beeches,
look, from a distance, like little woods. On closer view, after lowering
the worm-eaten wooden bars, you imagine yourself in an immense garden,
for all the ancient apple-trees, as gnarled as the peasants themselves,
are in bloom. The sweet scent of their blossoms mingles with the heavy
smell of the earth and the penetrating odor of the stables. It is noon.
The family is eating under the shade of a pear tree planted in front of
the door; father, mother, the four children, and the help--two women and
three men are all there. All are silent. The soup is eaten and then a
dish of potatoes fried with bacon is brought on.

From time to time one of the women gets up and takes a pitcher down to
the cellar to fetch more cider.

The man, a big fellow about forty years old, is watching a grape vine,
still bare, which is winding and twisting like a snake along the side of
the house.

At last he says: "Father's vine is budding early this year. Perhaps we
may get something from it."

The woman then turns round and looks, without saying a word.

This vine is planted on the spot where their father had been shot.

It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were occupying the whole
country. General Faidherbe, with the Northern Division of the army, was
opposing them.

The Prussians had established their headquarters at this farm. The
old farmer to whom it belonged, Father Pierre Milon, had received and
quartered them to the best of his ability.

For a month the German vanguard had been in this village. The French
remained motionless, ten leagues away; and yet, every night, some of the
Uhlans disappeared.

Of all the isolated scouts, of all those who were sent to the outposts,
in groups of not more than three, not one ever returned.

They were picked up the next morning in a field or in a ditch. Even
their horses were found along the roads with their throats cut.

These murders seemed to be done by the same men, who could never be
found.

The country was terrorized. Farmers were shot on suspicion, women
were imprisoned; children were frighte