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Updated: June 28, 2025
The sight of his senile weariness flashed the irony of the whole wild dream into Valmond's mind. He rose, and, giving his arm, led Lagroin to his bedroom, and bade him good-night. When he returned to the room, it was empty. He looked around, and, seeing an open door, moved to it quickly. It led into a little stairway.
Parpon knew it to be the reflection of the campfires in the valley, where Lagroin and his men were sleeping. There came, too, out of the general stillness, a long, low murmur, as though nature were crooning: the untiring rustle of the river, the water that rolled on and never came back again. Where did they all go those thousands of rivers for ever pouring on, lazily or wildly? What motive?
Parpon would gladly have done this work alone, but he knew that Lagroin in his regimentals would be useful. The sought-for comrades were often to be found together about the noon hour in the shop of Jose Lajeunesse. They formed the coterie of the humble, even as the Cure's coterie represented the aristocracy of Pontiac with Medallion as a connecting link.
They bowed profoundly, first to Valmond, and afterwards to Madame Chalice. She saw the point, and it amused her. She read in the old man's eye the soldier's contempt for women, together with his new-born reverence and love for Valmond. Lagroin was still dressed in the uniform of the Old Guard, and wore on his breast the sacred ribbon which Valmond had given him the day before.
"Ay, thank the Lord, we've done well that way!" said the blacksmith, drawing himself up for he loved nothing better than to be called the giant, though he was known to many as petit enfant, in irony of his size. Lagroin was now impatient. He could not see the drift of this, and he was about to whisper to Parpon, when the little man sent him a look, commanding silence, and he fretted on dumbly.
There was water, there was good air, and for purposes of drill or defence it was excellent. The approaches were patrolled, so that no outside stragglers could reach either the Rock of Red Pigeons or the valley, or see what was going on below, without permission. Lagroin was everywhere, drilling, commanding, browbeating his recruits one minute, and praising them the next.
His voice shook as he said it, and the world to him was all a muddle then; for Napoleon the Great had asked a private this question after that battle on the Alle, when Berningsen, the Russian, threw away an army to the master strategist. The private had answered the question in the words of Sergeant Lagroin.
The sound of a drum rolled up the street, and presently, round a corner, came the well-ordered troops of the Government. Instantly Lagroin wheeled to summon any stray men of his little army, but Valmond laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. It would have been the same in any case, for the people had scattered like sheep, and stood apart. They were close by the church steps.
"Drummer, call the army to attention," fell the words. And again like a small whirlwind of hailstones the sticks shook on the drum. "I advance Captain Lagroin to the rank of Colonel in my Household Troops, and I command you to obey him as such." And once more: "Drummer, call the army to attention." The sticks swung down, but somehow they faltered, for the drummer was shaking now.
"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!"
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