Handing one to each, he poured them brimming
full. Then, filling his own, he spilled a little in the steely dust of
the smithy floor. All did the same, though they knew not why.
"What's that for?" asked the mealman.
"To show the Little Corporal, dear Corporal Violet, and my comrades of
the Old Guard, that we don't forget them," cried Lagroin.
He drank slowly, holding his head far back, and as he brought it straight
again, he swung on his heel, for two tears were racing down his cheeks.
The mealman wiped his eyes in sympathy; the charcoalman shook his head at
the blacksmith, as though to say, "Poor devil!" and Parpon straightway
filled their glasses again. Madelinette took the flask to the old
sergeant. He looked at her kindly, and patted her shoulder. Then he
raised his glass.
"Ah, the brave Caron, the dear Lucette Caron! Ah, the time she dragged me
from under the Russian's mare!" He smiled into the distance. "Who can
tell? Perhaps, perhaps--again!" he added.
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.
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