Page 61 - A Hero of Liége
P. 61

"He'd like it too, monsieur. He doesn't have much company, and he'd like to
               hear about things from an officer; you can't believe what you read in the

               papers. I'll take you across the fields."



               In a few minutes they were seated in a cosy little parlour, opposite a sturdy
               countryman, hale and hearty in spite of his seventy odd years. He asked
                shrewd questions about the war, foresaw great trouble for his country, but,

               like the farmer, was cheered by the news that "les braves Anglais" were
               coming once more to her rescue. When Pariset led up to the subject of his

               mill he became animated.


                "Ah! the old mill is a rare old place," he said with a chuckle. "The things I

               could tell you! There was more than milling in the old days. Times are
               changed. We're all for law now. But in my grandfather's time--why,

               monsieur, he's dead and gone this forty years, so it will do him no harm if I
               tell you he was a smuggler. Many and many a barrel of good brandy used
               to get across the border without paying duty. Why, underneath the old mill

               there are cellars and passages where he used to store contraband worth
               thousands of francs. I used to steal down there when I was a boy, and ma

               foi! it made my skin creep, though there was nothing to be afraid of. But 'tis
               fifty years since my old grandfather closed them down, and they've never
               been opened up since."



                "Your present tenant is a hotel-keeper, I hear. He would be interested to

               know about the smuggling."


                "That he was, to be sure. He laughed when I told him about it. 'We can't get

               rich that way nowadays,' said he. He seems to have plenty of money,
               though; pays me a good rent. 'Tis strange what whims gentlemen have. A

               month's fishing in the pond wouldn't feed him for a week. He calls it sport;
               well, in my young days I liked something more lively. But the fishing is
               just an excuse; he comes there now and then for a change and quiet, though

               he's not a solitary, like some fishermen. He has a party of friends
                sometimes; all Swiss like himself."



                "French Swiss?" asked Pariset.
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