“He sends this for Madelinette,” answered the dwarf, handing over a little bag of gold to the girl, who drew back. But Parpon went close to her, and gently forced it into her hands.
“Open it,” he said. She did so, and the blacksmith’s eyes gloated on the gold. Muroc and Duclosse drew near, and peered in also. And so they stood there for a little while, all looking and exclaiming.
Presently Lajeunesse scratched his head. “Nobody does nothing for nothing,” said he. “What horse do I shoe for this?”
“La, la!” said the charcoalman, sticking a thumb in the blacksmith’s side; “you only give him the happy hand—like that!”
Duclosse was more serious. “It is the will of God that you become a marshal or a duke,” he said wheezingly to the blacksmith. “You can’t say no; it is the will of God, and you must bear it like a man.”
The child saw further; perhaps the artistic strain in her gave her keener reasoning.
“Father,” she said, “Monsieur Valmond wants you for a soldier.”
“Wants me?” he roared in astonishment. “Who’s to shoe the horses a week days, and throw the weight o’ Sundays after mass? Who’s to handle a stick for the Cure when there’s fighting among the river-men?
“But there, la, la! many a time my wife, my good Florienne, said to me, ‘Jose—Jose Lajeunesse, with a chest like yours, you ought to be a corporal at least.’”
Parpon beckoned to Lagroin, and nodded. “Corporal! corporal!” cried Lagroin; “in a week you shall be a lieutenant and a month shall make you a captain, and maybe better than that!”