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Updated: May 16, 2025
Then rapture came to them again, and they smiled in each other's eyes, alone amidst all the silent radiance. Suddenly, however, Silvere raised his head and, throwing off the cloak, listened attentively. Miette, in her surprise, imitated him, at a loss to understand why he had started so abruptly from her side.
He ardently longed to induce his father to send her about her business; and for this reason he was always spying upon her. For some time past, he had become aware of the meetings with Silvere, and had only awaited a decisive opportunity to reveal everything to his father, Rebufat.
Silvere looked in front of him. He had reached the end of the path. His eyes fell on the tombstone, and he started. Miette was right, that stone was for her. "Here lieth . . . Marie . . . died . . . " She was dead, that slab had fallen over her. His strength failing him, he leant against the frozen stone. How warm it had been when they sat in that nook, chatting for many a long evening!
There was no necessity for Silvere to question them further, for they told him the story of the poacher Chantegreil and his daughter Miette, with that unreasoning spite which is felt for social outcasts.
"Come," said the gendarme. "It won't take long." Silvere then recognised the one-eyed man. He smiled. He must have understood. But he turned his head away. The sight of the one-eyed man, of his moustaches which congealed blood stiffened as with sinister rime, caused him profound grief. He would have liked to die in perfect peace.
When he thought that he had wounded and exasperated Silvere sufficiently, he would at last touch upon politics. "I've been assured," he would say, lowering his voice, "that the Rougons are preparing some treachery." "Treachery?" Silvere asked, becoming attentive. "Yes, one of these nights they are going to seize all the good citizens of the town and throw them into prison."
When Silvere had kissed Miette's cheek, he raised his head and observed the mill. "What a long walk we've had!" he exclaimed. "See here is the mill. It must be nearly half-past nine. We must go home." But Miette pouted. "Let us walk a little further," she implored; "only a few steps, just as far as the little cross-road, no farther, really." Silvere smiled as he again took her round the waist.
He had fancied that he could distinguish in the well the face of a young girl who was looking at him with a smile; however, he had shaken the rope, and the disturbed water was now but a dim mirror that no longer reflected anything clearly. Silvere, who did not venture to stir, and whose heart beat rapidly, then waited for the water to settle.
At last a few insurgents interfered, and threatened the young man with exemplary chastisement if he did not leave Miette alone. But Justin, although he retreated, declared that he was not afraid of them. It was just at this moment that Silvere came up.
"Ah! the bandit, his hands are black with powder," the gendarme exclaimed, as he stooped down. "Come, get up, you scoundrel! You know what you've got to expect." Then, as Silvere only smiled vaguely and did not move, the other looked more attentively, and saw that the corpse swathed in the banner was that of a girl. "A fine girl; what a pity!" he muttered. "Your mistress, eh? you rascal!"
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