“Lord! Lord!” he cried, with feigned awe, getting to his feet at sight of the two. Then, to his comrades, “Children, children, off with your hats! Here is Monsieur Talleyrand, if I’m not mistaken. On to your feet, mealman, and dust your stomach. Lajeunesse, wipe your face with your leather. Duck your heads, stupids!” With mock solemnity the three greeted Parpon and Lagroin. The old sergeant’s face flushed, and his hand dropped to his sword; but he had promised Parpon to say nothing till he got his cue, and he would keep his word. So he disposed himself in an attitude of martial attention. The dwarf bowed to the others with a face of as great gravity as the charcoalman’s, and waving his hand, said: “Keep your seats, my children, and God be with you. You are right, smutty-face; I am Monsieur Talleyrand, Minister of the Crown.” “The devil, you say!” cried the mealman. “Tut, tut!” said Lajeunesse, chaffing; “haven’t you heard the news? The devil is dead!” The dwarf’s hand went into his pocket. “My poor orphan,” said he, trotting over and thrusting some silver into the blacksmith’s pocket, “I see he hasn’t left you well off. Accept my humble gift.” “The devil dead?” cried Muroc; “then I’ll go marry his daughter.” Parpon climbed up on a pile of untired wheels, and with an elfish grin began singing. Instantly the three humorists became silent and listened, the blacksmith pumping his bellows mechanically the while. “O mealman white, give me your daughter, Oh, give her to me, your sweet Suzon! O mealman dear, you can do no better For I have a chateau at Malmaison. Black charcoalman, you shall not have her She shall not marry you, my Suzon-- A bag of meal--and a sack of carbon! Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non! Go look at your face, my fanfaron, For my daughter and you would be night and day, Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non, Not for your chateau at Malmaison, Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non, You shall not marry her, my Suzon.” A better weapon than his waspish tongue was Parpon’s voice, for it, before all, was persuasive. A few years before, none of them had ever heard him sing. An accident discovered it to them, and afterwards he sang for them but little, and never when it was expected of him. He might be the minister of a dauphin or a fool, but he was now only the mysterious Parpon who thrilled them. All the soul cramped in the small body was showing in his eyes, as on that day when he had sung before the Louis Quinze.