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Then, all at once, as if conscious of the pitiful humour of his meditations, he came to his feet, straightened his shoulders, and cried: "To her we love best!" The charcoalman drank, and smacked his lips. "Yes, yes," he said, looking into the cup admiringly; "like mother's milk that. White of my eye, but I do love her!" The mealman cocked his glance towards the open door.
He could see the fat, wheezy Duclosse hesitate, but the arid, alert Garotte had determination in every motion and look. They came nearer; they were about to pass; there was no sign. Pomfrette stopped short. "Good-day, lime-burner; good-day, Duclosse," he said, looking straight at them. Garotte made no reply, but walked straight on. Pomfrette stepped swiftly in front of the mealman.
Therefore the notables among the habitants had gathered in his empty house for a last drink of good-fellowship Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the mealman, Benoit the ne'er-do-weel, Gingras the one-eyed shoemaker, and a few others. They had drunk the health of Medallion, they had drunk the health of the Cure, and now Duclosse the mealman raised his glass. "Here's to "
But the great comedy, so well played, had justified it. "Oh, His Excellency 'll keep his oath," said the mealman. "I'd take Elise Malboir's word about a man for a million francs, was he prince or ditcher; and she says he's the greatest man in the world. She knows." "That reminds me," said Lajeunesse gloomily, "Elise has the black fever."
Parpon's pleasant ridicule was not lost on the charcoalman and the mealman; but neither was the singing wasted; and their faces were touched with admiration, while the blacksmith, with a sigh, turned to his fire and blew the bellows softly. "Blacksmith," said Parpon, "you have a bird that sings." "I've no bird that sings like that, though she has pretty notes, my bird." He sighed again.
Pomfrette drew his rough knuckles across his forehead in a dazed way; then, as the significance of the thing came home to him, he broke out with a fierce oath, and strode away down the yard and into the road. On the way to his house he met Duclosse the mealman and Garotte the lime-burner. He wondered what they would do.
As Madame Chalice had said, either as prince or barber, he was playing a terrible game. Why shouldn't he get all he could out of it while it lasted let the world break over him when it must? Why should he stand in an orchard of ripe fruit, and refuse to pick what lay luscious to his hand, what this stupid mealman below would pick, and eat, and yawn over? There was the point.
She was beside the open door of the oven; and it would be hard to tell whether her face was suffering from heat or from blushes. However that might chance, her mouth was soft and sweet, and her eyes were still wet. "Who is he, Parpon?" she asked, not looking at him. "Is he like Duclosse the mealman, or Lajeunesse the blacksmith, or Garotte the lime-burner-and the rest?"
He could see the fat, wheezy Duclosse hesitate, but the arid, alert Garotte had determination in every motion and look. They came nearer; they were about to pass; there was no sign. Pomfrette stopped short. "Good-day, lime-burner; good-day, Duclosse," he said, looking straight at them. Garotte made no reply, but walked straight on. Pomfrette stepped swiftly in front of the mealman.
The fall it will be his; and though I strive and strain, One blow will close my eyes, and I shall never waken." "Good enough for Ba'tiste," said Duclosse the mealman. The wave of feeling was now altogether with Francois, and presently he walked away with Jeanne Marchand and her mother, and the crowd dispersed.
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