Another week went by.  Francoise became more and more grave.  Pere Merlier still said nothing.  Then one evening he himself silently brought in Dominique.  Francoise at that moment was setting the table.  She did not seem astonished; she contented herself with putting on an additional plate, knife and fork, but the little dimples were again seen in her cheeks, and her smile reappeared.  That morning Pere Merlier had sought out Dominique in his hut on the border of the wood.

There the two men had talked for three hours with doors and windows closed.  What was the purport of their conversation no one ever knew.  Certain it was, however, that Pere Merlier, on taking his departure, already called Dominique his son-in-law.  Without doubt the old man had found the youth he had gone to seek a worthy youth in the lazy fellow who stretched himself out upon the grass to make the girls fall in love with him.

All Rocreuse clamored.  The women at the doors had plenty to say on the subject of the folly of Pere Merlier, who had thus introduced a reprobate into his house.  The miller let people talk on.  Perhaps he remembered his own marriage.  He was without a sou when he wedded Madeleine and her mill; this, however, had not prevented him from making a good husband.  Besides, Dominique cut short the gossip by going so vigorously to work that all the district was amazed.  The miller’s assistant had just been drawn to serve as a soldier, and Dominique would not suffer another to be engaged.  He carried the sacks, drove the cart, fought with the old mill wheel when it refused to turn, and all this with such good will that people came to see him out of curiosity.  Pere Merlier had his silent laugh.  He was excessively proud of having formed a correct estimate of this youth.  There is nothing like love to give courage to young folks.  Amid all these heavy labors Francoise and Dominique adored each other.  They did not indulge in lovers’ talks, but there was a smiling gentleness in their glances.

Up to that time Pere Merlier had not spoken a single word on the subject of marriage, and they respected this silence, awaiting the old man’s will.  Finally one day toward the middle of July he caused three tables to be placed in the courtyard, beneath the great elm, and invited his friends of Rocreuse to come in the evening and drink a glass of wine with him.

When the courtyard was full and all had their glasses in their hands, Pere Merlier raised his very high and said: 

“I have the pleasure to announce to you that Francoise will wed this young fellow here in a month, on Saint Louis’s Day.”

Then they drank noisily.  Everybody smiled.  But Pere Merlier, again lifting his voice, exclaimed: 

“Dominique, embrace your fiancee.  It is your right.”

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.