"

Then the firing continued, growing more and more vigorous, between the
French soldiers posted around the mill and the Prussians hidden behind
the trees. The balls whistled above the Morelle without damaging either
side. The fusillade was irregular, the shots coming from every bush, and
still only the little puffs of smoke, tossed gently by the breeze, were
seen. This lasted nearly two hours. The officer hummed a tune with an
air of indifference. Francoise and Dominique, who had remained in the
courtyard, raised themselves on tiptoe and looked over a low wall. They
were particularly interested in a little soldier posted on the shore of
the Morelle, behind the remains of an old bateau; he stretched himself
out flat on the ground, watched, fired and then glided into a ditch a
trifle farther back to reload his gun; and his movements were so droll,
so tricky and so supple, that they smiled as they looked at him. He must
have perceived the head of a Prussian, for he arose quickly and brought
his weapon to his shoulder, but before he could fire he uttered a cry,
fell and rolled into the ditch, where for an instant his legs twitched
convulsively like the claws of a chicken just killed. The little soldier
had received a ball full in the breast. He was the first man slain.
Instinctively Francoise seized Dominique's hand and clasped it with a
nervous contraction.

"Move away," said the captain. "You are within range of the balls."

At that moment a sharp little thud was heard in the old elm, and a
fragment of a branch came whirling down. But the two young folks did not
stir; they were nailed to the spot by anxiety to see what was going on.
On the edge of the wood a Prussian had suddenly come out from behind a
tree as from a theater stage entrance, beating the air with his hands
and falling backward. Nothing further moved; the two corpses seemed
asleep in the broad sunlight; not a living soul was seen in the
scorching country. Even the crack of the fusillade had ceased. The
Morelle alone whispered in its clear tones.

Pere Merlier looked at the captain with an air of surprise, as if to ask
him if the struggle was over.

"They are getting ready for something worse," muttered the officer.
"Don't trust appearances. Move away from there."

He had not finished speaking when there was a terrible discharge of
musketry. The great elm was riddled, and a host of leaves shot into the
air. The Prussians had happily fired too high. Dom