When the courtyard was full and all had their glasses in their hands, Père Merlier raised his very high and said:
“I have the pleasure to announce to you that Francoise will wed this young fellow here in a month, on Saint Louis’s Day.”
Then they drank noisily. Everybody smiled. But Père Merlier, again lifting his voice, exclaimed:
“Dominique, embrace your fiancee. It is your right.”
They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, while all the guests laughed joyously. It was a genuine fête. They emptied a small cask of wine. Then when all were gone but intimate friends the conversation was carried on without noise. The night had fallen, a starry and cloudless night. Dominique and Francoise, seated side by side on a bench, said nothing.
An old peasant spoke of the war the emperor had declared against Prussia. All the village lads had already departed. On the preceding day troops had again passed through the place. There was going to be hard fighting.
“Bah!” said Père Merlier with the selfishness of a happy man. “Dominique is a foreigner; he will not go to the war. And if the Prussians come here he will be on hand to defend his wife!”
The idea that the Prussians might come there seemed a good joke. They were going to receive a sound whipping, and the affair would soon be over.
“I have afready seen them; I have already seen them,” repeated the old peasant in a hollow voice.
There was silence. Then they drank again. Francoise and Dominique had heard nothing; they had gently taken each other by the hand behind the bench, so that nobody could see them, and it seemed so delightful that they remained where they were, their eyes plunged into the depths of the shadows.