"These are inventions to frighten us." For many people take a pleasure in frightening others.
All was quiet until about ten o'clock at night. It was very warm; I was sitting on a bench before my mill, in my shirt-sleeves, thinking of all my troubles. From time to time a thick cloud overshadowed the moon, which had not happened for a long time, and rain was hoped for. Grédel was washing the plates and dishes in the kitchen; my wife was trotting up and down, peeping into the cupboards to see if anything else had been stolen besides her hams; in the village, windows and shutters were closing one after another; and I was going up to bed too, when a kind of a rumor rose from the wood and attracted my attention; it was a distant murmuring; something was galloping there, carts were rolling, a gust of wind was passing. What could it be? My wife and Grédel had gone out, and were listening too. At that moment, from the other end of the village, arose a dispute which prevented us from making out this noise any longer, which was approaching from the mountain, and I said to Catherine: "The drunkards at the 'Cruchon d'Or' begin these disturbances every night. I must put an end to that, for it is a disgrace to the parish."
But I had scarcely said this when a crowd of people appeared in the street opposite the mill, shouting, "A deserter! a deserter!"
And the shrill voice of my deputy Placiard rose above all the rest, crying: "Take care of the horse! Mind you don't let him escape!"
A tall cuirassier was moving quietly in the midst of all this mob, every man in which wanted to lay hold of him—one by the arm, another by the collar. He was making no resistance, and his horse followed him limping, and hanging his head; the bangard was leading him by the bridle.
Placiard then seeing me at the door, cried: "Monsieur le Maire, I bring you a deserter, one of those who fled from Wissembourg, and who are now prowling about the country to live and glut at the expense of the country people. He is drunk even now. I caught him myself." All the rest, men and women, shouted: "Shut him up in a stable! Send for the gendarmes to fetch him away! Do this—do that"—and so on.
I was much astonished to see this fine tall fellow, with his helmet and his cuirass, who could have shouldered his way in a minute through all these people, going with them like a lamb. Cousin George had come up at the same moment. We hardly knew what to do about this business, for man and horse were standing there perfectly still, as if stupefied.
At last I felt I must say something, and I said: "Come in."
The bangard tied up the horse to the ring in the barn, and we all burst in a great crowd into my large parlor downstairs, slamming the door in the face of all those brawlers who had nothing to do in the house; but they remained outside, never ceasing for a moment to shout: "A deserter!" And half the village was coming: in all directions you could hear the wooden clogs clattering.
Once in the room, my wife fetched a candle from the kitchen. Then, catching sight of this strong and square-built man, with his thick mustaches, his tall figure, his sword at his side, his sleeves and his cuirass stained with blood, and the skin on one side of his face torn away and bruised all round to the back of the head, we saw at once that he was not a deserter, and that something terrible had happened in our neighborhood; and Placiard having again begun to tell us how he had himself caught this soldier in his garden, where the poor wretch was going to hide, George cried indignantly: "Come now, does a man like that hide himself? I tell you, M. Placiard, that it would have taken twenty like you to hold him, if he had chosen to resist."