The Miller's Daughter

Pere Merlier's mill, one beautiful summer evening, was arranged for a
grand fete. In the courtyard were three tables, placed end to end, which
awaited the guests. Everyone knew that Francoise, Merlier's daughter,
was that night to be betrothed to Dominique, a young man who was accused
of idleness but whom the fair sex for three leagues around gazed at
with sparkling eyes, such a fine appearance had he.
Pere
Merlier's mill was pleasing to look upon. It stood exactly in the center
of Rocreuse, where the highway made an elbow. The village had but one
street, with two rows of huts, a row on each side of the road; but at
the elbow meadows spread out, and huge trees which lined the banks of
the Morelle covered the extremity of the valley with lordly shade. There
was not, in all Lorraine, a corner of nature more adorable. To the
right and to the left thick woods,
At dawn a clamor of voices shook the mill. Pere Merlier opened the door of Francoise's chamber. She went down into the courtyard, pale and very calm. But there she could not repress a shiver as she saw the corpse of a Prussian soldier stretched out on a cloak beside the well.