They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, while all the
guests laughed joyously. It was a genuine fete. They emptied a
small cask of wine. Then when all were gone but intimate friends
the conversation was carried on without noise. The night had
fallen, a starry and cloudless night. Dominique and Francoise,
seated side by side on a bench, said nothing.
An old peasant spoke of the war the emperor had declared against
Prussia. All the village lads had already departed. On the
preceding day troops had again passed through the place. There was
going to be hard fighting.
"Bah!" said Pere Merlier with the selfishness of a happy man.
"Dominique is a foreigner; he will not go to the war. And if the
Prussians come here he will be on hand to defend his wife!"
The idea that the Prussians might come there seemed a good joke.
They were going to receive a sound whipping, and the affair would
soon be over.
"I have afready seen them; I have already seen them," repeated the
old peasant in a hollow voice.
There was silence. Then they drank again. Francoise and Dominique
had heard nothing; they had gently taken each other by the hand
behind the bench, so that nobody could see them, and it seemed so
delightful that they remained where they were, their eyes plunged
into the depths of the shadows.
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