"Father," she said, "Monsieur Valmond wants you for a soldier."
"Wants me?" he roared in astonishment. "Who's to shoe the horses a week
days, and throw the weight o' Sundays after mass? Who's to handle a stick
for the Cure when there's fighting among the river-men?
"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.
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