“Au revoir,” she said. “Come and tell me about the mockers. Success go with you—sire.”
Yet she did not know whether she thought him sire or sinner, gentleman or comedian, as she watched him go down the hill with Lagroin and Parpon. But she had the portrait. How did he get it? No matter, it was hers now.
Curious to know more of the episode in the village below, she ordered her carriage, and came driving slowly past the Louis Quinze at an exciting moment. A crowd had gathered, and boys, and even women, were laughing and singing in ridicule snatches of, “Vive Napoleon!” For, in derision of yesterday’s event, a small boy, tricked out with a paper cocked-hat and incongruous regimentals, with a hobby-horse between his legs, was marching up and down, preceded by another lad, who played a toy drum in derision of Lagroin. The children had been well rehearsed, for even as Valmond arrived upon the scene, Lagroin and Parpon on either side of him, the mock Valmond was bidding the drummer: “Play up the feet of the army!”
The crowd parted on either side, silenced and awed by the look of potential purpose in the face of this yesterday’s hero. The old sergeant’s glance was full of fury, Parpon’s of a devilish sort of glee.
Valmond approached the lads.
“My children,” he said kindly, “you have not learned your lesson well enough. You shall be taught.” He took the paper caps from their heads. “I will give you better caps than these.” He took the hobby-horse, the drum, and the tin swords. “I will give you better things than these.” He put the caps on the ground, added the toys to the heap, and Parpon, stooping, lighted the paper. Scattering money among the crowd, and giving some silver to the lads, Valmond stood looking at the bonfire for a moment, and then, pointing to it dramatically, said:
“My friends, my brothers, Frenchmen, we will light larger fires than these. Your young Seigneur sought to do me honour this afternoon. I thank him, and he shall have proof of my affection in due time. And now our good landlord’s wine is free to you, for one goblet each. My children,” he added, turning to the little mockers, “come to me to-morrow and I will show you how to be soldiers. My General shall teach you what to do, and I will teach you what to say.”
Almost instantly there arose the old admiring cries of, “Vive Napoleon!” and he knew that he had regained his ground. Amid the pleasant tumult the three entered the hotel together, like people in a play.
As they were going up the stairs, Parpon whispered to the old soldier, who laid his hand fiercely upon the fine sword at his side, given him that morning by Valmond; for, looking down, Lagroin saw the young Seigneur maliciously laughing at them, as if in delight at the mischief he had caused.
That night, at nine o’clock, the old sergeant went to the Seigneury, knocked, and was admitted to a room where were seated the young Seigneur, Medallion, and the avocat.