“Your mill is a real fortress,” he said. “We can hold it without difficulty until evening. The bandits are late. They ought to be here.”
The miller was grave. He saw his mill burning like a torch, but he uttered no complaint, thinking such a course useless. He merely said:
“You had better hide the boat behind the wheel; there is a place there just fit for that purpose. Perhaps it will be useful to have the boat.”
The captain gave the requisite order. This officer was a handsome man of forty; he was tall and had an amiable countenance. The sight of Francoise and Dominique seemed to please him. He contemplated them as if he had forgotten the coming struggle. He followed Francoise with his eyes, and his look told plainly that he thought her charming. Then turning toward Dominique, he asked suddenly:
“Why are you not in the army, my good fellow?”
“I am a foreigner,” answered the young man.
The captain evidently did not attach much weight to this reason. He winked his eye and smiled. Francoise was more agreeable company than a cannon. On seeing him smile, Dominique added:
“I am a foreigner, but I can put a ball in an apple at five hundred meters. There is my hunting gun behind you.”
“You may have use for it,” responded the captain dryly.
Francoise had approached, somewhat agitated. Without heeding the strangers present Dominique took and grasped in his the two hands she extended to him, as if to put herself under his protection. The captain smiled again but said not a word. He remained seated, his sword across his knees and his eyes plunged into space, lost in a reverie.