The old man’s serenity enraged the officer; he saw, indeed, what a ridiculous proceeding such a hunt would be. It was at that moment that he caught sight of Françoise where she sat, pale and trembling, on her bench. His attention was aroused by the girl’s anxious attitude. He was silent for a moment, glancing suspiciously from father to daughter and back again. “Is not that man,” he at last coarsely asked the old man, “your daughter’s lover?” Father Merlier’s face became ashy pale, and he appeared for a moment as if about to throw himself on the officer and throttle him. He straightened himself up and made no reply. Françoise had hidden her face in her hands. “Yes, that is how it is,” the Prussian continued; “you or your daughter have helped him to escape. You are his accomplices. For the last time, will you surrender him?” The miller did not answer. He had turned away and was looking at the distant landscape with an air of indifference, just as if the officer were talking to some other person. That put the finishing touch to the latter’s wrath. “Very well, then!” he declared, “you shall be shot in his stead.” And again he ordered out the firing-party. Father Merlier was as imperturbable as ever. He scarcely did so much as shrug his shoulders; the whole drama appeared to him to be in very doubtful taste. He probably believed that they would not take a man’s life in that unceremonious manner. When the platoon was on the ground he gravely said: “So, then, you are in earnest? Very well, I am willing it should be so. If you feel you must have a victim, it may as well be I as another.” But Françoise arose, greatly troubled, stammering: “Have mercy, sir; do not harm my father. Kill me instead of him. It was I who helped Dominique to escape; I am the only guilty one.” “Hold your tongue, my girl,” Father Merlier exclaimed. “Why do you tell such a falsehood? She passed the night locked in her room, sir; I assure you that she does not speak the truth.” “I _am_ speaking the truth,” the girl eagerly replied. “I got down by the window; I incited Dominique to fly. It is the truth, the whole truth.” The old man’s face was very white. He could read in her eyes that she was not lying, and her story terrified him. Ah, those children! those children! how they spoiled everything, with their hearts and their feelings! Then he said angrily: “She is crazy; do not listen to her. It is a lot of trash she is telling you. Come, let us get through with this business.” She persisted in her protestations; she kneeled, she raised her clasped hands in supplication. The officer stood tranquilly by and watched the harrowing scene. “_Mon Dieu!_” he said at last, “I take your father because the other has escaped me. Bring me back the other man, and your father shall have his liberty.” She looked at him for a moment with eyes dilated by the horror which his proposal inspired in her.