“Is that young man your brother?” he demanded.
She shook her head negatively. The German stood stiffly on his feet with out a smile. Then after a short silence he again asked:
“Has he lived long in the district?”
She nodded affirmatively.
“In that case, he ought to be thoroughly acquainted with the neighboring forests.”
This time she spoke.
“He is thoroughly acquainted with them, monsieur,” she said, looking at him with considerable surprise.
He said nothing further to her but turned upon his heel, demanding that the mayor of the village should be brought to him. But Francoise had arisen with a slight blush on her countenance; thinking that she had seized the aim of the officer’s questions, she had recovered hope. She herself ran to find her father.
Père Merlier, as soon as the firing had ceased, had quickly descended to the wooden gallery to examine his wheel. He adored his daughter; he had a solid friendship for Dominique, his future son-in-law, but his wheel also held a large place in his heart. Since the two young ones, as he called them, had come safe and sound out of the fight, he thought of his other tenderness, which had suffered greatly. Bent over the huge wooden carcass, he was studying its wounds with a sad air. Five buckets were shattered to pieces; the central framework was riddled. He thrust his fingers in the bullet holes to measure their depth; he thought how he could repair all these injuries. Francoise found him already stopping up the clefts with rubbish and moss.
“Father,” she said, “you are wanted.”