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"I'd sooner be in my grave any day, than go to one of those horrid bloody battles." "Or you, Momont; supposing you'd been there?" "Maybe I might have done as much as another, old as I look," replied the butler. "I'm sure you'd have done well, Momont.
"The bullocks are ready for the butcher's axe in the stalls at Durbelliere, please your reverence," said Chapeau, who rode near enough to his master to take a part in the conversation as occasion offered. "And the stone wine-jars are ready corked. Momont saw to the latter part himself.
May the saints direct that the drinking have not the same effect upon our friends that the corking had on Momont, or there will be many sick head-aches in Coron on the next morning." "There will be too many of us for that, Jacques. Five hundred throats will dispose of much good wine, so as to do but little injury."
Momont walked after them, with his head hanging down, his knees shaking, and his back bent double; but still he was walking himself; he was still able to save himself the disgrace of being dragged out like the women. When he got to the front door, he attempted to totter back, but a republican soldier stopped him.
"And was Chapeau really second?" said Momont, who was becoming jealous of the distinction likely to be paid to his junior fellow-servant. "You don't mean to say he went in before all the other gentlemen?" "Gentlemen, indeed!" said Chapeau. "What an idea you have of taking a town by storm, if you think men are to stand back to make room for gentlemen, as though a party were going into dinner."
"If I live a thousand years I shall never get over this night," "Oh, yes! most dreadfully awful," said the laundress. "I was carried in from the spot, and have not been able to move a limb since. I doubt I never shall put a foot to the ground again." "The muskets were to their shoulders," continued Momont.
Momont, like his master, had still some spirit in his bosom, and kept his seat, saying to himself, but out loud, "I told him so I told him so. I told him that we who remained here needed as much courage as those who went to the wars; but now, he that talked so much, he's the only one to run away."
"My master! my dear master!" said Momont, "let me but kiss his hand, and I will come back." The soldier let him pass in, and the old man in a moment was at his master's feet. "God bless you, Monseigneur!" said he, "God bless you! Say one word of kindness to your servant, before he is shot for loving his master and his King."
"It's not always those who talk the most that are the bravest," said Momont. Henri and his sister sat talking that night for a long time, after the other inhabitants of the chateau were in bed, and though they had so many subjects of interest to discuss, their conversation was chiefly respecting Adolphe Denot.
The kitchen, however, was filled with peasants, and in them Momont found ready listeners and warm admirers. Both Chapeau and the priest had spent the greater portion of the night in collecting what they considered would be a sufficient number of men to enable them to attack, with any chance of success, the republican soldiers who had taken possession of Durbelliere.
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