The Rocreuse people had not been able to understand why the daughter of Pere and Mere Merlier, both of whom had always enjoyed excellent health, grew ill and with an air of regret.  But at fifteen, though yet delicate, her little face became one of the prettiest in the world.  She had black hair, black eyes, and was as rosy as a peach; her lips constantly wore a smile; there were dimples in her cheeks, and her fair forehead seemed crowned with sunlight.  Although not considered robust in the district, she was far from thin; the idea was simply that she could not lift a sack of grain, but she would become plump as she grew older—­she would eventually be as round and dainty as a quail.  Her father’s long periods of silence had made her thoughtful very young.  If she smiled constantly it was to please others.  By nature she was serious.

Of course all the young men of the district paid court to her, more on account of her ecus than her pretty ways.  At last she made a choice which scandalized the community.

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.

It may well be imagined what a blow this was to Pere Merlier.  He said nothing, according to his custom, but his face grew thoughtful and his internal gaiety no longer sparkled in his eyes.  He looked gruff for a week.  Francoise also was exceedingly grave.  What tormented Pere Merlier was to find out how this rogue of a poacher had managed to fascinate his daughter.  Dominique had never visited the mill.  The miller watched and saw the gallant on the other side of the Morelle, stretched out upon the grass and feigning to be asleep.  Francoise could see him from her chamber window.  Everything was plain:  they had fallen in love by casting sheep’s eyes at each other over the mill wheel.