and almost choked.

"Come, neighbor," said the master of Chantebled cordially, "let us both
try to be reasonable. I've come to return your visit, since you called
upon me yesterday. Only, bad words never did good work, and the best
course, since this misfortune has happened, is to repair it as speedily
as possible. When would you have us marry off those bad children?"

Thunderstruck by the quiet good nature of this frontal attack,
Lepailleur did not immediately reply. He had shouted over the house
roofs that he would have no marriage at all, but rather a good lawsuit
by way of sending all the Froments to prison. Nevertheless, when it
came to reflection, a son of the big farmer of Chantebled was not to be
disdained as a son-in-law.

"Marry them, marry them," he stammered at the first moment. "Yes, by
fastening a big stone to both their necks and throwing them together
into the river. Ah! the wretches! I'll skin them, I will, her as well as
him."

At last, however, the miller grew calmer and was even showing a
disposition to discuss matters, when all at once an urchin of Janville
came running across the yard.

"What do you want, eh?" called the master of the premises.

"Please, Monsieur Lepailleur, it's a telegram."

"All right, give it here."

The lad, well pleased with the copper he received as a gratuity, had
already gone off, and still the miller, instead of opening the telegram,
stood examining the address on it with the distrustful air of a man who
does not often receive such communications. However, he at last had to
tear it open. It contained but three words: "Your son dead"; and in that
brutal brevity, that prompt, hasty bludgeon-blow, one could detect the
mother's cold rage and eager craving to crush without delay the man, the
father yonder, whom she accused of having caused her son's death, even
as she had accused him of being responsible for her daughter's flight.
He felt this full well, and staggered beneath the shock, stunned by the
words that appeared on that strip of blue paper, reading them again
and again till he ended by understanding them. Then his hands began to
tremble and he burst into oaths.

"Thunder and blazes! What again is this? Here's the boy dying now!
Everything's going to the devil!"

But his heart dilated and tears appeared in his eyes. Unable to remain
standing, he sank upon a chair and again obstinately read the telegram;
"Your son dead--Your son dead," as if seeking somethi