"That's the will of God, and the weather at sea, and what the Orleans do," answered Muroc grinning.
It was hard to tell how deep this adventure lay in Muroc's mind. He had a prodigious sense of humour, the best critic in the world.
"For me," said the lime-burner, "I think there'll be fighting before we get to the Orleans. There's talk that the Gover'ment's coming against us."
"Done!" said the charcoalman. "We'll see the way our great man puts their noses out of joint."
"Here's Lajeunesse," broke in the mealman, as the blacksmith came near to their fire. He was dressed in complete regimentals, made by the parish tailor.
"Is that so, monsieur le capitaine?" said Muroc to Lajeunesse. "Is the
Gover'ment to be fighting us? Why should it? We're only for licking the
Orleans, and who cares a sou for them, hein?"
"Not a go-dam," said Duclosse, airing his one English oath. "The English hate the Orleans too." Lajeunesse looked from one to the other, then burst into a laugh. "There's two gills of rum for every man at twelve o'clock to-day, so says His Excellency; and two yellow buttons for the coat of every sergeant, and five for every captain. The English up there in Quebec can't do better than that, can they? And will they? No. Does a man spend money on a hell's foe, unless he means to give it work to do? Pish! Is His Excellency like to hang back because Monsieur De la Riviere says he'll fetch the Government? Bah! The bully soldiers would come with us as they went with the Great Napoleon at Grenoble. Ah, that! His Excellency told me about that just now. Here stood the soldiers,"— he mapped out the ground with his sword," here stood the Great Napoleon, all alone. He looks straight before him. What does he see? Nothing less than a hundred muskets pointing at him. What does he do? He walks up to the soldiers, opens his coat, and says, 'Soldiers, comrades, is there one of you will kill your Emperor?' Damned if there was one! They dropped their muskets, and took to kissing his hands. There, my dears, that was the Great Emperor's way, our Emperor's father's little way."
"But suppose they fired at us 'stead of at His Excellency?" asked the mealman.
"Then, mealman, you'd settle your account for lightweights sooner than you want."
Duclosse twisted his mouth dubiously. He was not sure how far his enthusiasm would carry him. Muroc shook his shaggy head in mirth.