“No such luck: I shall die a man of all work,” grunted Dard.
“And you are sorry? you unnatural little monster! you have no feeling for me, then.”
“Oh, yes, I have; but glory is No. 1 with me now.”
“How loud the bantams crow! You leave glory to fools that be six feet high.”
“General Bonaparte isn’t much higher than I am, and glory sits upon his brow. Why shouldn’t glory sit upon my brow?”
“Because it would weigh you down, and smother you, you little fool.” She added, “And think of me, that couldn’t bear you to be killed at any price, glory or no glory.”
Then, to appease her fears, Dard showed her his number, 99; and assured her he had seen the last number in the functionary’s hand before he came away, and it was sixty something.
This ocular demonstration satisfied Jacintha; and she ordered Dard to help her draw the water.
“All right,” said he, “there is no immortal glory to be picked up to-day, so I’ll go in for odd jobs.”
While they were at this job a voice was heard hallooing. Dard looked up, and there was a rigid military figure, with a tremendous mustache, peering about. Dard was overjoyed. It was his friend, his boon-companion. “Come here, old fellow,” cried he, “ain’t I glad to see you, that is all?” La Croix marched towards the pair. “What are you skulking here for, recruit ninety-nine?” said he, sternly, dropping the boon-companion in the sergeant; “the rest are on the road.”