On the opposite bank of the Morelle lived a tall youth named
Dominique Penquer. He did not belong to Rocreuse. Ten years before
he had arrived from Belgium as the heir of his uncle, who had left
him a small property upon the very border of the forest of Gagny,
just opposite the mill, a few gunshots distant. He had come to sell
this property, he said, and return home. But the district charmed
him, it appeared, for he did not quit it. He was seen cultivating
his little field, gathering a few vegetables upon which he
subsisted. He fished and hunted; many times the forest guards
nearly caught him and were on the point of drawing up proces-verbaux
against him. This free existence, the resources of which the
peasants could not clearly discover, at length gave him a bad
reputation. He was vaguely styled a poacher. At any rate, he was
lazy, for he was often found asleep on the grass when he should have
been at work. The hut he inhabited beneath the last trees on the
edge of the forest did not seem at all like the dwelling of an
honest young fellow. If he had had dealings with the wolves of the
ruins of Gagny the old women would not have been the least bit
surprised. Nevertheless, the young girls sometimes risked defending
him, for this doubtful man was superb; supple and tall as a poplar,
he had a very white skin, with flaxen hair and beard which gleamed
like gold in the sun.
One fine morning Francoise declared to Pere Merlier that she loved
Dominique and would never wed any other man.
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