“And they are afraid to carry a musket for their king?”
“Not a bit, Father Jerome, not a bit afraid; nor yet unwilling, M. Henri. I will explain it all; only let us be a little by ourselves.”
“There is a mystery, Father Jerome,” said Henri, “and Chapeau must have his own way in explaining it.”
“Exactly, M. Henri; I will explain all.” By this time he had got the priest and his master somewhat out of the crowd. “You see, M. Henri, there are not two young men in the Bocage more determined to fight for the good cause this moment, than Jean and Peter Stein.”
“Why, Jacques, I do not see it yet, certainly.”
“Oh! Sir, it’s a fact; they are dying to have a musket in their hands. I pledge for them my word of honour,” and Jacques laid his hand upon his heart. “You will find they are with me, your reverence, when I meet you at the cross-roads, within half a mile of Coron, on Monday morning. But, M. Henri, they have a father.”
“Have a father!” said the Curé, “of course they have.”
“You don’t mean to tell me that Michael Stein, the smith, is a republican?”
“A republican!” said Jaques. “Oh! no, the heavens preserve us, he’s nothing so bad as that, or his own son wouldn’t remain under his roof another night, or his daughter either. No; Annot wouldn’t remain with him another hour, were he twenty times her father, if he turned republican.”
“Why does he prevent his sons joining the muster, then?” said Henri.