Dard scratched his head.
“Come,” said the corporal, briskly, “make up his bundle, girl, and let us be off; we have got our marching orders; going to the Rhine.”
“And do you think that I will let him go?” screamed Jacintha. “No! I will say one word to Madame Raynal, and she will buy him a substitute directly.”
Dard stopped her sullenly. “No! I have told all in the village that I would go the first chance: it is come, and I’ll go. I won’t stay to be laughed at about this too. If I was sure to be cut in pieces, I’d go. Give over blubbering, girl, and get us a bottle of the best wine, and while we are drinking it, the sergeant and I, you make up my bundle. I shall never do any good here.”
Jacintha knew the obstinate toad. She did as she was bid, and soon the little bundle was ready, and the two men faced the wine; La Croix, radiant and bellicose; Dard, crestfallen but dogged (for there was a little bit of good stuff at the bottom of the creature); and Jacintha rocking herself, with her apron over her head.
“I’ll give you a toast,” said La Croix. “Here’s gunpowder.”
Jacintha promptly honored the toast with a flood of tears.
“Drop that, Jacintha,” said Dard, angrily; “do you think that is encouraging? Sergeant, I told this poor girl all about glory before you came, but she was not ripe for it: say something to cheer her up, for I can’t.”
“I can,” cried this trumpet of battle, emptying its glass. “Attention, young woman.”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! yes, sir.”