The record-union., 1894-09-17
THE MILLER.
"A Thrilling Romance of the Napoleonio

] IL vas Tue illOSI VI
! ting coquettishly on the prettlesL oil NV
ers; it had a foot on each bank, and its
matched roof crowned with gllllt1owerS
! and iris, seemed like an aerial parterre
above the willows. The rapid and clear
river was engulied beneath it, and buried
! the iron-bound wheel while boiling on
! wards.
A wonder, this wheel One would say
that it carried the mill on its shoulder
and that in turning it was every moment
! going to overthrow it over on to the hig a
grass of the meadows beyond.
! The mill was white, as If sprinkled
over with Hour dust; il had green shut
ters, and creeping vines which peeped in
/ even at the garret windows; before the
door horses laden with corn, an old well
with moss-covered bucket. And what
variety of sound! \ black bird thrilling
forth a drinking song from the top perch
Of his wicker cage, cocks Growing, pigeons
cooling. whips cracking, and the sonor-
Gus voice of the miller ringing joyously
above all.
Here is the miller; he has just come
back; he enters the large yard perched
on his high mule like an Indian prince
on his elephant; his large hat almost
hides his face, red and round as a sum-
mer's moon, but one can just see the top
OF his crimson nose and the enormous
mouth over which goodness and happi-
HSSS uIi 1IOIll 0dI IL Sctis
Look at him well. He is Jean Nanier,
the miller of Bellefontaine.
In the middle Of the yard his wife,
scattering grain is surrounded by all til g
winged world of the place. Further on
his mother, leaning on her stick, leads a
restive kid to his stable. Valiant woman,
capable of everything but remaining still,
though 90 years OF age.
Now, look higher up toward the top of
this waving poplar, and you Will see be-
between the branches the rosy and
roguish face OF child. This is Pierre,
the mlller's son.
Then, raising the eyes to that window
framed in jasmine, you perceive the head
OF an ad ora BILE young girl This is Marthe.
the miller's daughter.
The picture is very much changed!
The mill is silent, the large yard DESERT
ed. A veil of sadness seems hanging
oyer the whole country.
The Prussians have invaded Cham
pagne, and Blucher's soldiers are en-
camped in the village of Bellefontaine.
Men and officers are installed in the
church; they came to the mill and carried
away the finest flour, the latest fowls and
the best wine. When parting, they prom
ised TO return soon.
They did return.
One evening on entering the mill Jean
Nanier hnds his door fast, the shutters
closed. He calls aloud; no one replies:
he breaks open the door, All is in disor-
der and as II abandoned. On a sack of
wheat, with staring eyes and face drowned
with tears, he sees his son Pierre.
''What has happened?'
'The Prussians have come," said the
child; they were drinking, eating and
singing; then they beat mother, sister
and grandmother. and they killed the
a l,n dot 1n1
The miller understood.
In a room overhead he found his mother
scarcely breathing-near her, trembling
and livid, his wife and daughter
With firm step he descended toward
the mill.
After barricading the door leading to
the stairs, ne calls his son, takes him on
his knee, and in slow, grave voice whis-
pers something in his ear.
The child leaves the house.
At the entrance to the mill carefully
piled sacks of wheat max a sort of wind
ing corridor, finishing by brusque turn
sort OF unexpected angle; then there is
large yawning trapdoor looking over
the deep river belOW-a gulf-death
The miller opens the trap, leaves the
| mill, looks toward the village steeple and
goes rapidly toward the church. Arrived
in front of q group of Prussian officers he
singles out the chief, and, with his her
culean fist, dealt him blow powerful
enough TO fell bull.
A clamor, like to the roaring of enraged
lions, arises on every side. ssPo ar,nsi
to armsr' With a bound Jean Vanier
goes toward his mill: he traverses the
yard under shower of balls, and disap-
pears in the corridor along by the piled
wheat, leaping with the ease of familiar
ity the yawning trap, the gulf-death.
Led by their toaming chief the soldiers
Ez1l.. -1.,lyf - 4.
they enter the corridor, and one hv one
they disappear through the trapdoor.
The soldier who turns is immediately
swallowed, and learns the lot of his conn
panion only 10 share it; an angle, a fall
DEATH
The wheel turns less rapidly, perhaps.
but in an iinplacable, irresistible way. as
II pushed by vengeiul arm, hidden in
the Hood; its terrible and menacing voice
cries, groans. laments. and the reddened
waves give sort of bloody halo.
However, a soldier going from the other
side of the village sees the corpses. and
rushing to the mill gives the alarm. and
the dance of death of Blucher's soldiers is
broken.
wreaked on the village!
Hidden behind tree John Vanier looks
anXiouslY toward the village steeple.
He is watching, listening, expecting.
Thrice he waves a white handk erchief
over his head.
Suddenly the bell began to ring: it is
not the carrillon of feast DAYS pealing
forth in joyous concerts; it is not the
soft measure OF the Angelus sending slow
and sauve harmony over the country: it
is not the pure and fresh clash of bells
which welcomes the new born, The
| bells that are seen leaping in the air cry.
threaten, defy, call for help, beseech,
command.
"Risel To armsl It is the tocsinl Il
is the country calling on her children in
the towns, in the villages, in the country!
Listen TO the tocsin!"
The miller leaves the willow, and stand
ing on the bank of the river. with BEAM
lug face, erect head and superb ewes be
stretches out his hands toward the stee-
pie.
Bravo, Pierrem he cries, "brayo,
Courage! my child! Go on, 90 on! Quick
er and stronger, quicker and stronger.
my boy!'
1t is, in fact, Pierre, who, on his faith
er's orders, has managed to get into the
sIeeple, and now, rope in hand, calls the
inhabitants to combat, vengeance, honor
and liberty.
On all sides the people arise and pre-
pare for the struggle.
At first they were hardly hundred.
| They are now three hundred They will
be over one thousand, two thousand,
three thousand-aD army! Each strok e
of the bell brings forth defender.
Before this human tourbilion, which
goes on increasing with each minute. the
! panic-struck, aslonished officers. count
their forces, hesitate consult, and, sud
denly springing to horse, disappear like
cloud of birds of prey
There was but one chance of salvation
flight; they fly.
The village is free-the miller is re-
venged.
The Prussians were seen no more, but
how many times. passing along by the