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Updated: June 24, 2025
Then the colonel arose and, approaching Father Milon, said in a low voice: "Listen, old man, there is perhaps a way of saving your life, it is to "
Crivelli was a second-rate tenor, and could not be trusted with the part of Don Ottavio, and a Frenchman named Milon, whom I conclude to have been a violoncello player, afterward identified with the organization of the Philharmonic Society, was engaged for that part. A Mme. Barbieri was cast for the part of Donna Anna, Mme. Garcia for that of Donna Elvira, Manuel Garcia, Jr.
Did he not come to you?" "No," answered Berenike. "But what is this fresh blood? Has the slaughter begun?" The wounded man nodded. Then he continued, with a groan: "In front of the house of your neighbor Milon the back of my head I fled a lance " His voice failed him, and Berenike cried to the tribune: "Support him, Nemesianus! Look after him and tend him.
General Faidherbe, with the Army of the North, was at their head. Now the Prussian staff had taken up its quarters in this farm-house. The old peasant who owned it, Pere Milon Pierre, received them, and gave them the best treatment he could. For a whole month the German vanguard remained on the look-out in the village.
It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were occupying the whole country. General Faidherbe, with the Northern Division of the army, was opposing them. The Prussians had established their headquarters at this farm. The old farmer to whom it belonged, Father Pierre Milon, had received and quartered them to the best of his ability. For a month the German vanguard had been in this village.
Lying behind one of the promontories of the island, the lookout men of the Gloire upon the shore had seen the cul de sac into which the British frigate was headed, so that Captain de Milon had served the Leda as Captain Johnson had the Slapping Sal. But the splendid discipline of the British service was at its best in such a crisis.
The colonel, surprised, was silent for a minute, looking straight at the prisoner. Father Milon stood impassive, with the stupid look of the peasant, his eyes lowered as though he were talking to the priest. Just one thing betrayed an uneasy mind; he was continually swallowing his saliva, with a visible effort, as though his throat were terribly contracted.
He dropped without suffering pain, quivering only in the final throes. Then the farmer, radiant with the silent joy of an old peasant, got up again, and, for his own pleasure, cut the dead man's throat. He then dragged the body to the ditch and threw it in. The horse quietly awaited its master. Father Milon mounted him and started galloping across the plains.
But, one morning, Pere Milon was found stretched in his stable, with a gash across his face. Two Uhlans ripped open were seen lying three kilometers away from the farm-house. One of them still grasped in his hand his blood-stained weapon. He had fought and defended himself.
These murders seemed to be done by the same men, who could never be found. The country was terrorized. Farmers were shot on suspicion, women were imprisoned; children were frightened in order to try and obtain information. Nothing could be ascertained. But, one morning, Father Milon was found stretched out in the barn, with a sword gash across his face.
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