“Mais,” M. Sorel swiftly explains, “they are weary of going; they understand nothing. One sits and smokes a little while, and one talks; then one puts a little ticket into one's hand; one is jammed into a long file; one slips his ticket into a box; he knows not for whom he is voting; it is like a flock of sheep. What is the use of going?”
Ah! that is the trouble? Then they are unjustly reproached. The government has indeed neglected to guide them. But suppose that some officer of the government—Mr. Fox himself, for instance—will be at the meeting? Then can M. Sorel induce those good French citizens to come?
Induce them! They will be only too ready; in fact, at a word from M. Sorel, and particularly when the news of this great honor to Fidèle shall have spread abroad, twenty, thirty, forty will go to every meeting,—that is, if a friend be there to guide them. At the very next meeting, monsieur shall see whether the great government's French children are neglectful!
Whereupon the great government, in the person of Mr. Fox, then and there falls in spirit upon the neck of her French citizen-children, represented by Sorel and Fidèle, and full reconciliation is made.
Yes, Mr. Fox will come again. M. Sorel must introduce him to those brave Frenchmen, his friends and neighbors; Mr. Fox must grasp them by the hand, one by one. Sorel must take him to the Société des Franco-Américains, where they gather. The government wishes to know them better. And (this in a confidential whisper) there may be other places to be filled. What! Suppose, now, that the government should some day demand the services of M. Sorel himself in the custom-house; and, since he is a business man, at a still larger salary than a thousand dollars a year!
“Ah, monsieur” (in a tone of playful reproach), “vous êtes un flatteur, n'est ce pas? You know,—I guess you giv'n' me taffy.”
Such a hero as Fidèle is! No more balloons, no more carting about of “ma musique;” a square room upstairs, a bottle of wine at dinner, short hours, distinction,—in fine, all that the heart can wish.
I have been speaking in the present: I should have spoken in the past.
It was shortly after Fidèle's appointment—in the early autumn—that I first made his and Sorel's acquaintance.
I was teaching in an evening school, not far from Madeira Place, and among my scholars was Sorel's only son, a boy of perhaps fourteen, whom his father had left behind, for a time, at school in France, and had but lately brought over. He was a shy, modest, intelligent little fellow, utterly out of place in his rude surroundings. From the pleasant village home-school, of which he sometimes told me, to the Maison Sorel, was a grating change.