"But, Louise," he exclaimed, "you cannot be thinking of it. Only consider. Why, you would have to pass whole nights out of doors, marching, running; and then the cold, the snow, and, above all, the firing! It cannot be."
"Pray, now," said the young girl, in a voice that shook with emotion, as she threw herself into his arms, "don't make me unhappy; you are jesting with your little Louise; you cannot mean to leave her!"
"But you will be much better here. You will be warm and comfortable. You shall hear from me every day."
"No, no; I will not stay behind; I will go with you. I don't mind the cold. I've been shut up too long; I want a little change of air, too. The birds don't stay at home. The robin redbreasts are out of doors all the winter long. Did I not have to bear the cold when I was quite a little thing, and hunger, too?"
She stamped impatiently with her foot, and then, for the third time, threw her arms round Jean-Claude's neck.
"Come, Papa Hullin," said she, in a coaxing voice, "Mother Lefévre has said 'Yes.' Will you be less kind than she? Ah! if you but knew how I love you!"
The honest fellow, touched beyond measure, had sat himself down, and turned aside his head to hide his emotion and avoid her persuasive caresses.
"Oh! how unkind and naughty you are to-day, Papa Jean-Claude!"
"It is for your sake, my child."