The ivy, torn from
the tottering edifice, hung like rags; the river was encumbered with
wrecks of all kinds, and through a breach was visible Francoise's
chamber with its bed, the white curtains of which were carefully closed.
Shot followed shot; the old wheel received two balls and gave vent to
an agonizing groan; the buckets were borne off by the current; the
framework was crushed. The soul of the gay mill had left it!
Then the French began the assault. There was a furious fight with swords
and bayonets. Beneath the rust-colored sky the valley was choked with
the dead. The broad meadows had a wild look with their tall, isolated
trees and their hedges of poplars which stained them with shade. To
the right and to the left the forests were like the walls of an ancient
ampitheater which enclosed the fighting gladiators, while the springs,
the fountains and the flowing brooks seemed to sob amid the panic of the
country.
Beneath the shed Francoise still sat near Dominique's body; she had
not moved. Pere Merlier had received a slight wound. The Prussians were
exterminated, but the ruined mill was on fire in a dozen places. The
French rushed into the courtyard, headed by their captain. It was his
first success of the war.
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