The
lime-burner left his kiln, and sojourned with his dogs at Dalgrothe
Mountain; the mealman neglected his trade; and Lajeunesse was no longer
at his blacksmith shop, save after dark, when the red glow of his forge
could be seen till midnight. He was captain of a company in the daytime,
forgeron at night.
Valmond, no longer fantastic in dress, speech, or manner, was happy,
busy, buoyed up and cast down by turn, troubled, exhilarated. He could
not understand these variations of health and mood. He had not felt
equably well since the night of Gabriel's burial in the miasmic air of
the mountain. At times he felt a wonderful lightness of head and heart,
with entrancing hopes; again a heaviness and an aching, accompanied by a
feeling of doom. He fought the depression, and appeared before his men
cheerful and alert always. He was neither looking back nor looking
forward, but living in his dramatic theme from day to day, and wondering
if, after all, this movement, by some joyful, extravagant chance, might
not carry him on even to the chambers of the Tuileries.
From the first day that he had gathered these peasants about him, had
convinced, almost against their will, the wise men of the village, this
fanciful exploit had been growing a deep reality to him.
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