Thereupon, his fears alleviated, he went on to tell her how it was that he had remained in the vicinity. He was alarmed for them. Those rascally Prussians were not above wreaking their vengeance on women and old men. All had ended well, however, and he added, laughing: “The wedding will be put off for a week, that’s all.” He became serious, however, upon noticing that her dejection did not pass away. “But what is the matter? You are concealing something from me.” “No, I give you my word I am not. I am tired; I ran all the way here.” He kissed her, saying it was imprudent for them both to talk there any longer, and was about to climb out of the ditch in order to return to the forest. She stopped him; she was trembling violently. “Listen, Dominique; perhaps it will be as well for you to stay here, after all. There is no one looking for you; you have nothing to fear.” “Françoise, you are concealing something from me,” he said again. Again she protested that she was concealing nothing. She only liked to know that he was near her. And there were other reasons still that she gave in stammering accents. Her manner was so strange that no consideration could now have induced him to go away. He believed, moreover, that the French would return presently. Troops had been seen over toward Sauval. “Ah! let them make haste; let them come as quickly as possible,” she murmured fervently. At that moment the clock of the church at Rocreuse struck eleven; the strokes reached them, clear and distinct. She arose in terror; it was two hours since she had left the mill. “Listen,” she said, with feverish rapidity, “should we need you, I will go up to my room and wave my handkerchief from the window.” And she started off homeward on a run, while Dominique, greatly disturbed in mind, stretched himself at length beside the ditch to watch the mill. Just as she was about to enter the village Françoise encountered an old beggar man, Father Bontemps, who knew every one and everything in that part of the country. He saluted her; he had just seen the miller, he said, surrounded by a crowd of Prussians; then, making numerous signs of the Cross and mumbling some inarticulate words, he went his way. “The two hours are up,” the officer said when Françoise made her appearance. Father Merlier was there, seated on the bench beside the well. He was smoking still. The young girl again proffered her supplication kneeling before the officer and weeping. Her wish was to gain time. The hope that she might yet behold the return of the French had been gaining strength in her bosom, and amid her tears and sobs she thought she could distinguish in the distance the cadenced tramp of an advancing army. Oh! if they would but come and deliver them all from their fearful trouble! “Hear me, sir: grant us an hour, just one little hour. Surely you will not refuse to grant us an hour!”