Without, the night had a warm serenity. The slender crescent of the
moon, which was sinking behind the forest of Sauval, lit up the country
with the glimmer of a night lamp. The lengthened shadows of the tall
trees barred the meadows with black, while the grass in uncovered spots
assumed the softness of greenish velvet. But Francoise did not pause
to admire the mysterious charms of the night. She examined the country,
searching for the sentinels whom the Germans had posted obliquely. She
clearly saw their shadows extending like the rounds of a ladder along
the Morelle. Only one was before the mill, on the other shore of the
river, beside a willow, the branches of which dipped in the water.
Francoise saw him plainly. He was a tall man and was standing
motionless, his face turned toward the sky with the dreamy air of a
shepherd.
When she had carefully inspected the locality she again seated herself
on her bed. She remained there an hour, deeply absorbed. Then she
listened once more: there was not a sound in the mill. She returned to
the window and glanced out, but doubtless one of the horns of the moon,
which was still visible behind the trees, made her uneasy, for she
resumed her waiting attitude.
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