“Your silence condemns you, Père Milon. But I want you to answer me, do you understand? Do you know who has killed the two uhlans who were found this morning near the crossroads?”
The old man said in a clear voice:
“It was I!”
The Colonel, surprised, remained silent for a second, looking steadfully at the prisoner. Père Milon maintained his impassive demeanor, his air of rustic stupidity, with downcast eyes, as if he were talking to his cure. There was only one thing that could reveal his internal agitation, the way in which he slowly swallowed his saliva with a visible effort, as if he were choking.
The old peasant's family—his son Jean, his daughter-in-law, and two little children stood ten paces behind, scared and dismayed.
The Colonel continued:
“Do you know also who killed all the scouts of our army whom we have found every morning, for the past month, lying here and there in the fields?”
The old man answered with the same brutal impassiveness:
“It was I!”
“It is you, then, that killed them all?”