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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Come, you must acknowledge that we are on the right track now it is one of the police," M. Durant said to his friend. But M. Hersant only shook his head. "I acknowledge nothing of the sort," he said. "Come with me to the mill-house to-night, and I will then tell you what I think." To this proposition M. Durant willingly agreed, and, accompanied by his friend and the village priest, set off.
"The mill-house was there, and the turmoil of old; But sick of these scenes, for too well were they known, I looked for the stream where in childhood I strolled When a moment of quiet and peace was my own. "With mingled emotions of pleasure and pain, Dear Florence, I sighed to behold thee once more; I sought thee, my brother, embraced thee again, But I found thee a slave as I left thee before!"
There was a new series of "Lettres de mon moulin" from a young officer of artillery keeping guard in an old mill-house in an important position at the front.
The miller, who was a greedy man in his way, and never forewent an opportunity of honest profit, turned the mill-house into a little wayside inn, and, several pieces of good fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and got the position of post master on the road.
It was Christmas Eve, and the mill-house was filled with oak logs and squares of turf, with cream and honey, with meat and bread, and the rafters were hung with wreaths of evergreen, and the Calvary and the cuckoo clock looked out from a mass of holly. There were little paper lanterns, too, for Alois, and toys of various fashions and sweetmeats in bright-pictured papers.
They drew together in homely and cordial friendship, and of an afternoon when dusk fell wove their lace in company in Mère Krebs's mill-house kitchen with the children and the dogs at their feet on the bricks, so that one big fire might serve for all, and all be lighted with one big rush candle, and all be beguiled by chit-chat and songs, stories of spirits, and whispers of ghosts, and now and then when the wind howled at its worst, a paternoster or two said in common for the men toiling in the barges or drifting up the Scheldt.
As he entered the Mill-House, Eric tried to lose himself in the atmosphere of a place where he had spent Christmas for a quarter of a century. His last night in London haunted him, and it was only by trying to console his mother for the absence of her two younger boys that he could avoid thinking of Barbara.
When the miller had pulled the floating object upon the bank he found it really was a box, the lid being fastened tight with a strong cord. So he lifted it carefully and carried it into the mill-house, and then he placed it upon the floor while he lighted a candle. Then he cut the cord and opened the box and behold! a little babe lay within it, sweetly sleeping upon a pillow of down.
A note from Jack lay on his hall table, regretting that they had not met, but promising to walk over to the Mill-House the moment that he arrived. It was followed by another, full of mock-indignation. "If you don't want to see me, you needn't," he wrote.
Bearing this important communication, Will walked out again into the night, and soon his letter awaited Phoebe in the usual receptacle. He felt therein himself, half suspecting a note might await him, but there was nothing. He hesitated for a moment, then climbed the gate into Monks Barton farmyard, went softly and stood in the dark shadow of the mill-house.
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