ed the forest of Sauval. Before taking
his departure the captain bowed very politely to Pere Merlier and made
his excuses, adding:

"Amuse them! We will return!"

Dominique was now alone in the hall. He was still firing, hearing
nothing, understanding nothing. He felt only the need of defending
Francoise. He had not the least suspicion in the world that the soldiers
had retreated. He aimed and killed his man at every shot. Suddenly there
was a loud noise. The Prussians had entered the courtyard from behind.
Dominique fired a last; shot, and they fell upon him while his gun was
yet smoking.

Four men held him. Others vociferated around him in a frightful
language. They were ready to slaughter him on the spot. Francoise, with
a supplicating look, had cast herself before him. But an officer entered
and ordered the prisoner to be delivered up to him. After exchanging
a few words in German with the soldiers he turned toward Dominique and
said to him roughly in very good French:

"You will be shot in two hours!"

CHAPTER III

THE FLIGHT

It was a settled rule of the German staff that every Frenchman, not
belonging to the regular army, taken with arms in his hands should
be shot. The militia companies themselves were not recognized as
belligerents. By thus making terrible examples of the peasants who
defended their homes, the Germans hoped to prevent the levy en masse,
which they feared.

The officer, a tall, lean man of fifty, briefly questioned Dominique.
Although he spoke remarkably pure French he had a stiffness altogether
Prussian.

"Do you belong to this district?" he asked.

"No; I am a Belgian," answered the young man.

"Why then did you take up arms? The fighting did not concern you!"

Dominique made no reply. At that moment the officer saw Francoise who
was standing by, very pale, listening; upon her white forehead her
slight wound had put a red bar. He looked at the young folks, one after
the other, seemed to understand matters and contented himself with
adding:

"You do not deny having fired, do you?"

"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 despa