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They were bound to make a Roman holiday out of us whether we wanted to or not. You know how excitable the French are. Had to have their little frolic out of it." "Not the way the Mounted does business. You know that, Beresford. We don't want any fuss and feathers any fol-de-rol this mironton-ton-ton stuff. Damn it, sir, you liked it. I could see you eat it up.
What are you hanging around for? Get out!" Constable Beresford had his revenge. As he passed the window, Inspector MacLean heard him singing. The words that drifted to the commissioned office! were familiar. "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine." MacLean smiled at the irrepressible youngster. Like most people, he responded to the charm of Winthrop Beresford.
The rhythmic motion of them might have suggested, if there had been anybody present to observe, that his mind was running on the old river song. "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine." Beresford speaking, to an audience of one, who listened with soft dark eyes aglow and sparkling. "He's the best scout ever came over the border, Jessie.
Long before the worn travelers and their escort reached the village, Jessie could hear the gay lilt of the chantey that heralded their coming: "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine." The girl hummed it herself, heart athrob with excitement. She found herself joining in the cheer of welcome that rose joyously when the cavalcade drew into sight.
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