“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!” “Better than that--bagosh!” cried the charcoalman in surprise, proudly using the innocuous English oath. “Better than that--sutler, maybe?” said the mealman, smacking his lips. “Better than that,” replied Lagroin, swelling with importance. “Ay, ay, my dears, great things are for you. I command the army, and I have free hand from my master. Ah, what joy to serve a Napoleon once again! What joy! Lord, how I remember--” “Better than that-eh?” persisted Duclosse, perspiring, the meal on his face making a sort of paste. “A general or a governor, my children,” said Lagroin. “First in, first served. Best men, best pickings. But every man must love his chief, and serve him with blood and bayonet; and march o’ nights if need, and limber up the guns if need, and shoe a horse if need, and draw a cork if need, and cook a potato if need; and be a hussar, or a tirailleur, or a trencher, or a general, if need. But yes, that’s it; no pride but the love of France and the cause, and--” “And Monsieur Valmond,” said the charcoalman slyly. “And Monsieur the Emperor!” cried Lagroin almost savagely. He caught Parpon’s eye, and instantly his hand went to his pocket. “Ah, he is a comrade, that! Nothing is too good for his friends, for his soldiers. See!” he added. He took from his pocket ten gold pieces. “‘These are bagatelles,’ said His Excellency to me; ‘but tell my friends, Monsieur Muroc and Monsieur Duclosse and Monsieur Garotte, that they are buttons for the coats of my sergeants, and that my captains’ coats have ten times as many buttons. Tell them,’ said he, ‘that my friends shall share my fortunes; that France needs us; that Pontiac shall be called the nest of heroes. Tell them that I will come to them at nine o’clock tonight, and we will swear fidelity.’” “And a damned good speech too--bagosh!” cried the mealman, his fingers hungering for the gold pieces. “We’re to be captains pretty soon--eh?” asked Muroc. “As quick as I’ve taught you to handle a company,” answered Lagroin, with importance. “I was a patriot in ‘37,” said Muroc. “I went against the English; I held abridge for two hours. I have my musket yet.” “I am a patriot now,” urged Duclosse. “Why the devil not the English first, then go to France, and lick the Orleans!” “They’re a skittish lot, the Orleans; they might take it in their heads to fight,” suggested Muroc, with a little grin. “What the devil do you expect?” roared the blacksmith, blowing the bellows hard in his excitement, one arm still round his daughter’s shoulder. “D’you think we’re going to play leap-frog into the Tuileries? There’s blood to let, and we’re to let it!”