"Josselin drapes himself in his English dignity—he sulks like Achilles and walks by himself."
"Josselin is at least a man," says Dumollard. "He tells the truth, and doesn't know fear—and I'm sorry he's English!"
And later, at the Mare d'Auteuil, he put out his hand to Barty and said:
"Let's make it up, Josselin—au moins vous avez du cœur, vous. Promettez‑moi que vous ne chanterez plus cette sale histoire de Capucin!"
Josselin took the usher's hand, and smiled his open, toothy smile, and said:
"Pas le dimanche matin toujours—quand c'est vous qui serez de service, M. Dumollard!" (Anyhow not Sunday morning when you're on duty, Mr. D.)
And Mr. D. left off running down the English in public after that—except to say that they couldn't be simple and natural if they tried; and that they affected a ridiculous accent when they spoke French—not Josselin and Maurice, but all the others he had ever met. As if plain French, which had been good enough for William the Conqueror, wasn't good enough for the subjects of her Britannic Majesty to‑day!
The only event of any importance in Barty's life that year was his first communion, which he took with several others of about his own age. An event that did not seem to make much impression on him—nothing seemed to make much impression on Barty Josselin when he was very young. He was just a lively, irresponsible, irrepressible human animal—always in perfect health and exuberant spirits, with an immense appetite for food and fun and frolic; like a squirrel, a collie pup, or a kitten.
Père Bonamy, the priest who confirmed him, was fonder of the boy than of any one, boy or girl, that he had ever prepared for communion, and could hardly speak of him with decent gravity, on account of his extraordinary confessions—all of which were concocted in the depths of Barty's imagination for the sole purpose of making the kind old curé laugh; and the kind old curé was just as fond of laughing as was Barty of playing the fool, in and out of season. I wonder if he always thought himself bound to respect the secrets of the confessional in Barty's case!
And Barty would sing to him—even in the confessional: