“I haven’t asked for mercy.”

“Have you been a soldier?”

“Yes, I served my time.  And then, you had killed my father, who was a soldier of the first Emperor.  And last month you killed my youngest son, Francois, near Evreux.  I owed you one for that; I paid.  We are quits.”

The officers were looking at each other.

The old man continued: 

“Eight for my father, eight for the boy—­we are quits.  I did not seek any quarrel with you.  I don’t know you.  I don’t even know where you come from.  And here you are, ordering me about in my home as though it were your own.  I took my revenge upon the others.  I’m not sorry.”

And, straightening up his bent back, the old man folded his arms in the attitude of a modest hero.

The Prussians talked in a low tone for a long time.  One of them, a captain, who had also lost his son the previous month, was defending the poor wretch.  Then the colonel arose and, approaching Father Milon, said in a low voice: 

“Listen, old man, there is perhaps a way of saving your life, it is to—­”

But the man was not listening, and, his eyes fixed on the hated officer, while the wind played with the downy hair on his head, he distorted his slashed face, giving it a truly terrible expression, and, swelling out his chest, he spat, as hard as he could, right in the Prussian’s face.

The colonel, furious, raised his hand, and for the second time the man spat in his face.

All the officers had jumped up and were shrieking orders at the same time.

In less than a minute the old man, still impassive, was pushed up against the wall and shot, looking smilingly the while toward Jean, his eldest son, his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren, who witnessed this scene in dumb terror.

A COUP D’ETAT

Paris had just heard of the disaster at Sedan.  A republic had been declared.  All France was wavering on the brink of this madness which lasted until after the Commune.  From one end of the country to the other everybody was playing soldier.

Cap-makers became colonels, fulfilling the duties of generals; revolvers and swords were displayed around big, peaceful stomachs wrapped in flaming red belts; little tradesmen became warriors commanding battalions of brawling volunteers, and swearing like pirates in order to give themselves some prestige.

The sole fact of handling firearms crazed these people, who up to that time had only handled scales, and made them, without any reason, dangerous to all.  Innocent people were shot to prove that they knew how to kill; in forests which had never seen a Prussian, stray dogs, grazing cows and browsing horses were killed.

Each one thought himself called upon to play a great part in military affairs.  The cafes of the smallest villages, full of uniformed tradesmen, looked like barracks or hospitals.