After a sumptuous dinner, the group moved to the villa's large living room, which was not only more spacious, accommodating the newly added guests, but also offered a cool breeze from the early summer night through its open, garden-facing windows.
After some casual conversation, everyone's gaze eventually settled on Lionel, who had yet to speak.
"Lionel,"
Zola's voice was filled with anticipation,
"it's your turn. Let's hear what story the finest young short story writer among us will bring tonight?"
Lionel gave a slight nod, his gaze sweeping over 29-year-old Guy de Maupassant, then over 19-year-old Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, before he quietly rose and walked to the center of the living room.
The gaslight outlined his figure.
His voice was not loud, yet it was exceptionally clear and chilling:
"Gentlemen, Émile's story depicted the brutality and complexity of war, and Guy's story was a brilliant black satire.
My story, perhaps, is smaller, more silent, like an inconspicuous wheat seed buried in the soil of the French countryside."
The story began with the background: the Prussians had already occupied the entire Normandy region, while General Faidherbe was still leading the Army of the North in a stubborn resistance.
Lionel's voice began,
"…In the Norman countryside, not far from Rouen, there was a small farm village, whose master was called Pierre, Pierre Milon, everyone called him Père Milon.
He was sixty-eight years old that year, small and stooped, with two large hands like crab claws. Everyone thought he had a bad temper and was difficult to deal with."
In just a few words, Lionel sketched the image of a typical French old farmer.
Such old farmers were common throughout the French countryside: stubborn, persistent, hardworking, taciturn, valuing land and property above life, completely different from the flashy and carefree Parisians.
"…Then the Prussians came, requisitioning his grain, slaughtering his livestock, and using his home as a temporary barracks. Père Milon endured it silently, like an old donkey accustomed to hardship.
In front of the Prussians, he always remained silent and submissive, almost appearing dull and foolish; he even served the Prussians, tidying their hay, fetching clean water for them…
So the Prussian officers deemed the old man harmless and a bit laughable, allowing him to move freely around the farm…"
Lionel narrated in a simple tone, yet this portrayal of Père Milon created a contrast with the previously established characteristics.
However, the plot twist soon emerged:
"…However, the calm of the countryside was merely an appearance; beneath it, dark currents stirred.
Prussian soldiers began to disappear mysteriously, not dying on the battlefield, but vanishing silently while on patrol or at their posts.
Sometimes bodies were found at the edge of the woods, throats slit; sometimes in ditches, the back of their heads crushed by a blunt object; sometimes they simply disappeared without a trace, neither alive nor dead.
The perpetrator even spared no horses, slitting their throats with a single cut."
Lionel narrated the bloody events in a calm tone, which particularly instilled horror in the listeners.
Chekhov, sitting in the corner, instinctively moved a bit closer to the fireplace — though no fire was lit there.
Lionel's voice echoed in the living room:
"Fear spread among the occupying forces. They conducted frantic searches and severely tortured villagers, but to no avail. People rumored it was the work of an elusive 'Avenger'…"
"Consequently, the Prussians imposed a reign of terror in the area. Farmers were often executed based on groundless accusations, and women were imprisoned;
They even tried to extract information from children through intimidation, but they found nothing…"
Huysmans cursed angrily,
"Damn Prussians, only capable of preying on unarmed farmers!"
Maupassant, who had served as a soldier on the front, said bitterly,
"Isn't that because the soldiers with guns have already been routed and surrendered?
Ah, let's just listen to Lion continue…"
Lionel's tone did not falter because of the interruption; it remained as calm as water:
"…One morning, someone saw Père Milon lying in his stable, his face bearing a bloody knife wound.
And on that very day, not far from Père Milon's farm, two lancers were found with their stomachs pierced.
One of their sabers was stained with blood, suggesting he had fought with the assailant before he died."
"What? Père Milon?"
Paul Alexis gasped.
"So his subservience to the Prussians was all an act?"
Henri Céard chimed in.
Léon Hennique, however, grew excited:
"Well done, Père Milon! I knew he was a patriot!"
Zola, however, subtly frowned and did not agree.
He felt that Lionel's story wouldn't be so simple.
Lionel did not play mysterious:
"Père Milon was arrested by the Prussians, and a military trial began in the open space of his farm.
The colonel leading the occupying force asked him how he got the knife wound on his face, and if he knew who killed the two lancers.
Although everyone in their hearts knew the answer, no one expected Père Milon's response to be so direct: 'It was me.'"
At this moment, Lionel seemed to embody the old man, his tone becoming resolute, startling the listeners.
Immediately after, "Père Milon's" narrative shocked everyone:
"I remember the day after you arrived, at ten in the evening, your soldiers stole fifty écus worth of my hay, a milk cow, and two sheep.
I thought at the time, if you were to take twenty more écus from me, I would go and get them back from you—oh, and there's something else, I'll tell you about it later.
Just then, I saw one of your cavalrymen sitting in the ditch behind the barn, smoking his pipe. I took my scythe and quietly crept up from behind…
One stroke, just one stroke, his head, like a ripe ear of wheat, was severed by me, without even a chance to whimper.
If you look at the bottom of the pond, you'll find him in a coal sack, with a large stone inside."
As Lionel narrated the killing process, his voice showed no fluctuation, instead sounding guileless like an old farmer, as if killing a Prussian was no different from killing a chicken or a sheep.
Even more incredible was "Père Milon's" motive for the killings: the Prussian occupying forces had stolen his hay, milk cow, and sheep.
It wasn't out of any "patriotic sentiment," but merely because his property had been violated.
What theme did Lionel intend to convey?
Next, "Père Milon," like a river with its floodgates opened, spilled out the details of how he killed the other Prussian soldiers.
Every night thereafter, he would roam like a ghost through the village, fields, and forests, secretly killing any lone Prussian he encountered.
In total, there were sixteen.
And finally, "Père Milon" calmly spoke of "something else"—
"'My father fought under Emperor Napoleon and was killed by you! Last month, you also killed my youngest son, François, near Évreux.
Eight for my father, eight for my son; the ledger is settled, and now no one owes anyone anything.
I don't even know you! I don't even know where you came from.
Now you've invaded my home, occupied my farm, and stolen my belongings, as if this were your own home.
I have taken my revenge on those men, and I don't regret it one bit!' Père Milon straightened his back as he spoke."
Lionel's voice gradually softened, finally coming to an abrupt halt after "Père Milon" was executed:
"Père Milon, before drawing his last breath, even smiled at them."
The story ended.
Lionel's voice faded.
Just like the previous two stories, there was no applause, only a dead silence and heavy breathing.
Zola said in an almost hollow tone,
"Lion, what kind of story did you just tell us…"
(End of Chapter)
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