Nana by Émile Zola (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕

>“I fired as often as I could!” responded Dominique tranquilly.

 

This confession was useless, for he was black with powder, covered

with sweat and stained with a few drops of blood which had flowed

from the scratch on his shoulder.

 

“Very well,” said the officer. “You will be shot in two hours!”

 

Francoise did not cry out. She clasped her hands and raised them

with a gesture of mute despair. The officer noticed this gesture.

Two soldiers had taken Dominique to a neighboring apartment, where

they were to keep watch over him. The young girl had fallen upon a

chair, totally overcome; she could not weep; she was suffocating.

The officer had continued to examine her. At last he spoke to her.

 

“Is that young man your brother?” he demanded.

 

She shook her head negatively. The German stood stiffly on his feet

with out a smile. Then after a short silence he again asked:

 

“Has he lived long in the district?”

 

She nodded affirmatively.

 

“In that case, he ought to be thoroughly acquainted with the

neighboring forests.”

 

This time she spoke.

 

“He is thoroughly acquainted with them, monsieur,” she said, looking

at him with considerable surprise.

 

He said nothing further to her but turned upon his heel, demanding

that the mayor of the village should be brought to him. But

Francoise had arisen with a slight blush on her countenance;

thinking that she had seized the aim of the officer’s questions, she

had recovered hope. She herself ran to find her father.

 

Pere Merlier, as soon as the firing had ceased, had quickly

descended to the wooden gallery to examine his wheel. He adored his

daughter; he had a solid friendship for Dominique, his future sonin-law, but his wheel also held a large place in his heart. Since

the two young ones, as he called them, had come safe and sound out

of the fight, he thought of his other tenderness, which had suffered

greatly. Bent over the huge wooden carcass, he was studying its

wounds with a sad air. Five buckets were shattered to pieces; the

central framework was riddled. He thrust his fingers in the bullet

holes to measure their depth; he thought how he could repair all

these injuries. Francoise found him already stopping up the clefts

with rubbish and moss.

 

“Father,” she said, “you are wanted.”

 

And she wept at last as she told him what she had just heard. Pere

Merlier tossed his head. People were not shot in such a summary

fashion. The matter must be looked after. He re-entered the mill

with his silent and tranquil air. When the officer demanded of him

provisions for his men he replied that the inhabitants of Rocreuse

were not accustomed to be treated roughly and that nothing would be

obtained from them if violence were employed. He would see to

everything but on condition that he was not interfered with. The

officer at first seemed irritated by his calm tone; then he gave way

before the old man’s short and clear words. He even called him back

and asked him:

 

“What is the name of that wood opposite?”

 

“The forest of Sauval.”

 

“What is its extent?”

 

The miller looked at him fixedly.

 

“I do not know,” he answered.

 

And he went away. An hour later the contribution of war in

provisions and money, demanded by the officer, was in the courtyard

of the mill. Night came on. Francoise watched with anxiety the

movements of the soldiers. She hung about the room in which

Dominique was imprisoned. Toward seven o’clock she experienced a

poignant emotion. She saw the officer enter the prisoner’s

apartment and for a quarter of an hour heard their voices in loud

conversation. For an instant the officer reappeared upon the

threshold to give an order in German, which she did not understand,

but when twelve men ranged themselves in the courtyard, their guns

on their shoulders, she trembled and felt as if about to faint. All

then was over: the execution was going to take place. The twelve

men stood there ten minutes, Dominique’s voice continuing to be

raised in a tone of violent refusal. Finally the officer came out,

saying, as he roughly shut the door:

 

“Very well; reflect. I give you until tomorrow morning.’

 

And with a gesture he ordered the twelve men to break ranks.

Francoise was stupefied. Pere Merlier, who had been smoking his

pipe and looking at the platoon simply with an air of curiosity,

took her by the arm with paternal gentleness. He led her to her

chamber.

 

“Be calm,” he said, “and try to sleep. Tomorrow, when it is light,

we will see what can be done.”

 

As he withdrew he prudently locked her in. It was his opinion that

women were good for nothing and that they spoiled everything when

they took a hand in a serious affair. But Francoise did not retire.

She sat for a long while upon the side of her bed, listening to the

noises of the house. The German soldiers encamped in the courtyard

sang and laughed; they must have been eating and drinking until

eleven o’clock, for the racket did not cease an instant. In the

mill itself heavy footsteps resounded from time to time, without

doubt those of the sentinels who were being relieved. But she was

interested most by the sounds she could distinguish in the apartment

beneath her chamber. Many times she stretched herself out at full

length and put her ear to the floor. That apartment was the one in

which Dominique was confined. He must have been walking back and

forth from the window to the wall, for she long heard the regular

cadence of his steps. Then deep silence ensued; he had doubtless

seated himself. Finally every noise ceased and all was as if

asleep. When slumber appeared to her to have settled on the house

she opened her window as gently as possible and leaned her elbows on

the sill.

 

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. At last she

thought the proper time had come. The night was as black as jet;

she could no longer see the sentinel opposite; the country spread

out like a pool of ink. She strained her ear for an instant and

made her decision. Passing near the window was an iron ladder, the

bars fastened to the wall, which mounted from the wheel to the

garret and formerly enabled the millers to reach certain machinery;

afterward the mechanism had been altered, and for a long while the

ladder had been hidden under the thick ivy which covered that side

of the mill.

 

Francoise bravely climbed out of her window and grasped one of the

bars of the ladder. She began to descend. Her skirts embarrassed

her greatly. Suddenly a stone was detached from the wall and fell

into the Morelle with a loud splash. She stopped with an icy shiver

of fear. Then she realized that the waterfall with its continuous

roar would drown every noise she might make, and she descended more

courageously, feeling the ivy with her foot, assuring herself that

the rounds were firm. When she was at the height of the chamber

which served as Dominique’s prison she paused. An unforeseen

difficulty nearly caused her to lose all her courage: the window of

the chamber was not directly below that of her apartment. She hung

off from the ladder, but when she stretched out her arm her hand

encountered only the wall. Must she, then, ascend without pushing

her plan to completion? Her arms were fatigued; the murmur of the

Morelle beneath her commenced to make her dizzy. Then she tore from

the wall little fragments of plaster and threw them against

Dominique’s window. He did not hear; he was doubtless asleep. She

crumbled more plaster from the wall, scraping the skin off her

fingers. She was utterly exhausted; she felt herself falling

backward, when Dominique at last softly opened the window.

 

“It is I!” she murmured. “Catch me quickly; I’m falling!”

 

It was the first time that she had addressed him familiarly.

Leaning out, he seized her and drew her into the chamber. There she

gave vent to a flood of tears, stifling her sobs that she might not

be heard. Then by a supreme effort she calmed herself.

 

“Are you guarded?” she asked in a low voice.

 

Dominique, still stupefied at seeing her thus, nodded his head

affirmatively, pointing to the door. On the other side they heard

someone snoring; the sentinel, yielding to sleep, had thrown himself

on the floor against the door, arguing that by disposing himself

thus the prisoner could not escape.

 

“You must fly,” resumed Francoise excitedly. “I have come to beg

you to do so and to bid you farewell.”

 

But he did not seem to hear her. He repeated:

 

“What? Is it you; is it you? Oh, what fear you caused me! You

might have killed yourself!”

 

He seized her hands; he kissed them.

 

“How I love you, Francoise!” he murmured. “You are as courageous as

good. I had only one dread: that I should die without seeing you

again. But you are here, and now they can shoot me. When I have

passed a quarter of an hour with you I shall be ready.”

 

Little by little he had drawn her to him, and she leaned her head

upon his shoulder. The danger made them dearer to each other. They

forgot everything in that warm clasp.

 

“Ah, Francoise,” resumed Dominique in a caressing voice, “this is

Saint Louis’s Day, the day, so long awaited, of our marriage.

Nothing has been able to separate us, since we are both here alone,

faithful to the appointment. Is not this our wedding morning?”

 

“Yes, yes,” she repeated, “it is our wedding morning.”

 

They tremblingly exchanged a kiss. But all at once she disengaged

herself from Dominique’s arms; she remembered the terrible reality.

 

“You must fly; you must fly,” she whispered. “There is not a minute

to be lost!”

 

And as he stretched out his arms in the darkness to clasp her again,

she said tenderly:

 

“Oh, I implore you to listen to me! If you die I shall die also!

In an hour it will be light. I want you to go at once.”

 

Then rapidly she explained her plan. The iron ladder descended to

the mill wheel; there he could climb down the buckets and get into

the boat which was hidden