CHAPTER IV.
MICHAEL STEIN.
On the Sunday morning, after Henri's return to Durbelliere, JacquesChapeau, with Jean and Peter Stein, left the chateau very early, andstarted for Echanbroignes. Word had been sent to the old smith by someof the neighbours, who had been at Saumur, that his two sons were safeand sound, and that they had behaved well at the siege, and a messageat the same time reached Annot, informing her that Jacques meant tospend his next Sunday at the village; the party was therefore expected,and great preparations were made for a fete at Echanbroignes. The heroesof that place considered that they had somewhat celebrated themselves;in the first place, on final inquiry, it appeared, that not one personfrom the village, who was at all able to go to Saumur, had neglected todo so. In the next place, many of the villagers were among the numberof the red scarfs, and they claimed to themselves the privilege of beingconsidered peculiarly valiant and particularly loyal; and lastly, thoughmany of them had gone to Saumur, without arms, every man on his returnhad a musket with him, which the old men and women regarded as absolutetrophies, taken by each man individually from some awful rebel whom hehad slain in single combat. There were to be great rejoicings,therefore, at Echanbroignes, which were postponed for the arrival ofChapeau and the two Stems.
The old smith was very angry at his sons' behaviour. As Chapeau hadsaid, he was a very black man, and when he was angered, it wasn't easyto smooth him; the operation, however, was attempted by some of hisneighbours, and though they were not altogether successful, theysucceeded in making the old man a little proud of his family.
"Yes, Paul Rouel;" he said to the village innkeeper, who was an ancientcrony of his, "it's very well to talk of King and Church; but if Kingand Church are to teach sons to fly against their fathers, we may, Ithink, have a little too much of them; didn't I again and again tell theboys not to go?"
"But, Michael Stein, how could you expect them to stay here, with ascore of old men like us, and a number of women and girls, when everyyoung fellow in the parish had gone to the wars? besides, they say, theydid gallantly at the wars, and gained great honour and glory."
"Gained a great fiddle-stick," said the smith.
"But, Michael Stein," said another old friend, named Gobelin, "youwouldn't have your children disgraced, would you? think how sheepishthey would have looked, hiding themselves in the smithy here, when allthe other young men were parading round the green with the guns andswords they have taken from the rebels, and the women and girls alladmiring them. Why, neighbour, not a girl in the parish would havespoken to them."
"Girls spoken to them, indeed! I tell you, Gobelin, in the times nowcoming, any girl will be ready enough to speak to a young man that hasa house over his head, and a five-franc piece in his pocket. No,neighbour Gobelin; I gave my boys a good trade, and desired them tostick to it; they have chosen instead to go for soldiers, and forsoldiers they may go. They don't come into my smithy again, that's all."
"You don't mean you won't speak to the lads, and after their fightingso bravely and all!" said Paul Rouel, in a voice of horror.
"I didn't say I wouldn't speak to them, Rouel," said the father, "I amas fond of my sons as another man; and as they were resolved to disobeymy commands, and to go fighting, why I'll not say but I'm glad theydidn't disgrace themselves. I'd have been sorry to hear that they'd runaway, or been the last to face the enemy; but they had no right to go,when there was work for them to do at home; they are welcome now to comeand take the best I can give them, till their new trade calls them awayagain, and then they'll be welcome to go soldiering again; not a hammershall they raise on my anvil, not a blast shall they blow in my smithy,not an ounce of iron shall they turn in my furnace."
"You'll think better of these things after a day or two, neighbour,"said Gobelin.
"When I think once about a thing, Gobelin, I'm not much given to thinkagain. But I tell you, I wish the boys no harm; let them be soldiersnow, and I pray God they may be good soldiers; only, if I save a littlemoney by hard work, I won't have them spend it among their comrades instrong drink; it'll be all the better for Annot, when I die, that'sall."
In this resolution he remained fixed, and in this frame of mind hereceived his truant sons on their return to Echanbroignes on the Sundaymorning. They entered the village together with Chapeau, about nine inthe morning, having been met about a mile from the town, by four or fivefriends, who escorted them back. Annot was not there, for she was verybusy at home, preparing breakfast for her brothers and lover. She at anyrate was determined that the prodigal sons should be received with afatted calf.
Chapeau marched up through the village at the head of the littleprocession to bear the brunt of the father's anger, as his station inlife, and standing in the army made him feel superior even to the furyof old Michael Stein. As they approached the door of the smith's house,they saw him sitting in the little porch with a pipe in his mouth, forMichael was never found without one or two implements; he had alwayseither his hammer or his pipe in lull activity.
"Welcome back to Echanbroignes, M. Chapeau, welcome back," said the oldman. "I am heartily glad to see so brave a soldier in my poor cabin!"and he gave his hand to Jacques.
"And here be two other brave soldiers, Michael Stein, who, I hope, arealso welcome to Echanbroignes; and this I will say, any father in Poitoumight be proud to own them for his Sons: for gallanter fellows there arenot in the whole army of La Vendee, and that is saying a long word."
There was a little crowd round the smith's house, and in spite of hisunmilitary predilections, he could not help feeling proud at the publictestimony that was paid to his sons' merits: he showed this by the tearthat stood in his eye, as he said:
"They are welcome too, M. Chapeau; they are very welcome too. I am gladto see ye, safe and sound from the wars, lads. I am glad to see thee,Jean: I am glad to see thee, Peter," and he gave a hand to each of thetwo young men, who were delighted with their unexpected kind reception."And this I will say before the neighbours here, as ye would go to thewars, and make soldiers of yourselves, I am well pleased to hear yebehaved yourselves like gallant brave men should do. I'd sooner thatyour friends should have had to tell me that ye were both stiff andcold, than that ye should have returned yourselves with shamed faces toown that ye had disgraced the trade ye have chosen to take up with."
"Bravo! Bravo!" said Chapeau, "I am glad in my heart, Michael Stein, tohear you speak so kindly to the lads; and so will M. Henri be glad tohear it, for they are two of his own especial troop--they are two of thegallant red scarfs, who swam into Saumur with their muskets tucked undertheir arms."
"But understand me, boys," continued the smith, still speaking so thatthe neighbours standing round could hear him. "I am right glad to seeboth of you, as I am to see M. Chapeau, or any other gallant friend whois kind enough to visit me and Annot. But mind, it is as visitors Ireceive you; in a few days, doubtless, you must go away to the warsagain; till then ye shall have the best I can give, both to eat and todrink. Ye shall have your own way, and never be asked to do a turn ofwork. Ye shall have gay holyday times, and holyday fare, and anythingthe old man can do, and anything the old man can give to make you merry,he will do, and he will give, because you have come back gallantly, andhave not brought dishonour to the roost where ye were hatched--but morethan this I will not agree to. Ye would not abide at home, as I desired,and this therefore is no longer a home for you; ye would not be contentto be forgers of weapons, but ye must e'en use them too, and ye have hadyour way. Now, lads, I must have my way; and for the rest of the timeI must have it alone. This is no longer your home, lads, and I am nolonger your master. Ye would be soldiers when I did not wish it; now letye be soldiers, and I'm the less sorry for it, as it seems like thatyou'll prove good soldiers. And now, Peter and Jean, you're welcome bothof you. Jacques Chapeau you are most heartily welcome--come Annot, letthe lads have a swinging breakfast, for I know these soldiers fight notwell unless they be fed well," and so finishing his speech, he led theway into
the cottage.
The three men were too well pleased with their reception to grumble atthe smith's mode of expressing his feeling. Jean and Peter weredelighted to find that they were to be entertained with the best theirfather could afford, instead of with black looks and hard words, andthat the only punishment to be immediately inflicted on them, was thatthey were to do no work; the party, therefore, entered the cottagetolerably well pleased with each other.
It is not to be supposed that Annot remained in the back-ground duringthe whole of her father's oration. She had come out of the cottage, andkissed her two brothers, and shaken hands with her lover; she thenreturned in again, and Chapeau had followed her, and as the two wereleft alone together, for a minute or two, I think it very probable thatshe kissed him also; but I cannot speak positively on this point.
Then they all sat down to breakfast, and Paul Rouel and old Gobelin, whohad contrived to be of the party, were greatly surprised to hear and tosee how civil Michael was to his sons. He pressed them to eat of thevery best, as he did to Chapeau, and talked to them about the war,listened to all their tales, and had altogether lost the domineeringauthoritative tone of voice, with which he usually addressed his ownfamily; it was only in talking to Annot that he was the samehot-tempered old man as ever. The two young men themselves were hardlyat their ease; but they eat their breakfast, and made the best theycould of it.
"Smothered fire burns longest, neighbour Gobelin," said Rouel, as heleft the house. "Take my word, Michael will never forgive those two boysof his the longest day he has to live."
After breakfast, Michael Stein and his whole party went to mass, as didall the soldier peasants, who had returned from Saumur; and the old Cureof the parish, who had now recovered possession of his own church, withmuch solemnity returned thanks to God for the great victory which theVendeans had gained, and sung a requiem for the souls of the royalistswho had fallen in the battle. When they left the church, the peasantsall formed themselves into a procession, the girls going first, and themen following them; and in this manner they paraded round the green,carrying a huge white flag, which had been embroidered in the village,and which bore in its centre, in conspicuous letters of gold, thosethree words, the loyal Shibboleth of La Vendee, "Vive le Roi!"
This flag they fixed on a pole erected in the centre of the green, andthen they set to work to amuse themselves with twenty different games.The games, however, did not flourish--the men were too eager to talk ofwhat they had done, and the girls were too willing to listen--theydivided themselves into fifty little parties, in which fifty differentaccounts were given of the taking of Saumur, and in each party three orfour different warriors were named as having been the most conspicuousheroes of the siege. Each narrator had some especially esteemed leaderor chief, who in his eyes greatly exceeded the other leaders, and theprodigious feats of valour performed by this favoured warrior was thefirst and most wonderful subject of discourse. Then, but at a modestdistance, as regards the glory of the achievements related, each peasanttold what he had done himself; two or three probably made out theirlittle history together, and told of each other's valour: that homelyand somewhat vulgar Scotch proverb, "you scratch my back, and I'llscratch yours," was certainly unknown to them, but nevertheless theyfully recognized the wise principle of mutual accommodation which thatproverb teaches.
"It's no use talking, but there isn't one of them able to hold a candleto our M. Henri--is there, Louis? that is, for a downright thunderingattack."
This was said by Jean Stein to two or three of the village girls, bywhom he was looked on as a great hero, in consequence of his having goneto the war in spite of his father's commands, as well as on account ofChapeau's honourable testimony in his favour; and the man referred to,was one Louis Bourdin, who, as well as Jean, had been of the party whofollowed Henri through the moat.
"That there is not, Jean; that is, for positive standup fighting; notone. And we ought to know, for we have seen most of 'em. There'sCathelineau is a very good man at leading on the men."
"Oh, yes!" said Jean, "Cathelineau is a fine fellow too, and a veryholy man; but somehow I don't think he's quite so forward as M. Henri.M. Henri is always the first."
"But doesn't he get dreadfully knocked about by the guns and bullets?"asked one of the girls.
"He doesn't matter that a pinch of snuff," said Louis.
"No, not a pinch of snuff," said Jean. "Do you mind, Louis, how he leaptoff his horse, and dashed through the trenches, that first night atVarin? wasn't it beautiful?"
"You may say that, Jean," answered Louis; "it was beautiful. And whata night that was--you were along with him, Jean, and so was Chapeau. M.Henri was up first, I can swear to that; but it would puzzle any one tosay who was second."
"Yourself Louis, was as quick as any one--I marked you well. Indeedthen, said I to myself, if all our men are as forward as Louis Bourdin,the village will have a great name before the war is over."
"But tell me truly now, Louis Bourdin," said a little girl, who waslistening intently all the time, "when you went up into that place, werethere real soldiers in armour, with guns and cannon firing at you allthe time?"
"Truly then there were, Lolotte, hundreds of them," said Bourdin.
"Well, that is horrible!" said the girls all at once.
"And do you remember, Jean," continued Bourdin, "when M. Henri dasheddown again, how the traitor rebels hallooed out, 'Fire upon the redscarf!' Well, I did think it was all up with him then. You were closeto him, Jean; nearer than I am to Lolotte now."
"And that's quite near enough," said Lolotte, giving him a push.
"Why I'm sure I was doing nothing; I was only wanting to show you. JeanStein there, was, as I was saying, quite close to M. Henri; and as theyleapt out of the camp together, twenty voices roared out at once, 'Fireupon the red scarf! fire upon the red scarf!' Oh! that was a fearfulevening; it was dark then, and the light of the smoking, glaring torchesmade it five times more horrible. I thought we were as good as dead menthen. I'm sure I for one can't guess how we ever got out alive."
"And yet, M. Henri wasn't wounded," said Jean; "well it was wonderful.After all, General d'Elbee must be right; Providence must give a shaketo a rebel's arm, just as he's firing, so as to send his bullet anywherebut where it's meant to go."
"Yes," said Bourdin, "and it directs the shot of a royalist right intoa rebel's heart."
"Well, if that be so," said Lolotte, "I'm sure I for one wouldn't liketo fight on the rebel's side. They must be wonderful brave men to holdout at all, when Providence goes against them in that way."
"But they don't hold out, girl," said Jean, "they always run away; howthey did run, Bourdin, when M. Henri led us into the town, through thebroken wall; well, I believe they all thought at that time, the devilhimself was coming for them out of the moat."
"Only think, girls, three or four thousand men running away as fast astheir feet could carry them, from two hundred fellows, who hadn't acharge of dry powder among them, and who were all themselves drippingwet through; well that was fine."
Jacques Chapeau and Annot Stein had not joined any of these parties;they had disappeared soon after mass, and were not heard of for threeor four hours afterwards; they took a long ramble by themselves, downby the mill-stream, and far beyond the mill; sitting down, every now andthen among the willows, and then getting up and strolling on a bitfurther; they did not, this day, waste their time in foolish quarrelsand fond reconciliations; but discoursed together, sundry seriousmatters of important business, as becomes people to do, when they thinkof arranging a partnership concern, from which each intends to get acomfortable means of living for the remainder of his or her life; uponthe whole, they had but very few subjects of difference, and by theirreturn to the smith's house at supper-time, they had fully agreed thatno further time ought to be lost, in establishing a firm under the nameof Jacques and Annot Chapeau and Co. The Co. being left to comeafterwards or not, as God might please.
After supper was over, Annot had n
o difficulty in inducing her brothersto leave the house, and thus the coast was left clear for Jacques to askthe father's consent to his intended marriage. Neither he nor Annotexpected much difficulty in persuading Michael to accept of so promisinga son-in-law; but they were both determined that if they could not marrywith his consent, they would do so without it. So Chapeau lighted hispipe, and sat himself down opposite the smith, and Annot retired to herown little sleeping chamber, where she might conveniently hear what herfather and lover said to each other, respecting her intended nuptials.
"Well, Michael Stein, my old friend," said Jacques; "these are glorioustimes, are they not? The rebels beaten hollow, till they haven't a faceto shew for themselves, and the King coming to La Vendee, to enjoy hisown again; it will be a fine thing to see the King riding into thevillage of Echanbroignes to thank the gallant peasants, with his ownmouth, for what they have done for him!"
"Yes, M. Chapeau! those will be fine times when they come; pray God you,and other young fellows like you, may live to see them; an old fellowlike me has little chance of such happiness."
"And why not, my friend? what is to make those days so far off? I tellyou, Michael Stein, the rebels were dead beaten at Saumur; they arescattered like chaff; their very best soldiers are altogether hors decombat; the war is as good as over. We may have to make a little tripor two, just to receive the English, who are coming to help us; we mayhave to go and meet them on the coast; or perhaps to Parthenay, to askM. Santerre what he wants in that part of the world; but that is all,literally all; I tell you the rebels are clean beaten."
"I only wonder then, M. Chapeau, why you want the English to come andhelp you, if, as you say, you have conquered all the republicansyourselves?"
"Just to pay their respects to the King, and, perhaps, to lend us a handin driving those Jacobins out of Paris--that's all. Till that's done theKing is to live at Saumur."
"To live at Saumur, is he?"
"That's what those say who know most about it, and you know I'm in theway to know what's really going forward. He's to hold his court atSaumur, and Henri Larochejaquelin is to be commandant of the town, andhave the command of all the forces there. I tell you, Michael Stein, we,that wear the red scarfs, will not be the worse off then."
"I hope not; in truth, M. Chapeau, I hope not; though they do say thatthey be not wise who put their trust in princes."
"Princes!" said Jacques, "I am not talking of princes, I am talking ofthe King himself, God bless him!"
"Well, perhaps, that does make a difference; and I say, God bless himtoo, with all my heart."
"I suppose you've heard, Michael Stein, that our young General, M.Henri, is going to be married?"
"Is he then?" said Michael. "No, truly, I did not hear a word of sucha matter; to some grand lady of the court, I suppose?"
"No, but to his own beautiful young cousin, Mademoiselle de Lescure, thesister of our other General, you know."
"Well, may they be happy, both of them; I mind their fathers well; theold Marquis is still alive, but greatly ailing they tell me. I have muchto be thankful for, and I do thank the Lord!" and as he spoke, MichaelStein crossed himself. "Now, I'm as old in a manner as the Marquishimself and yet you see I can still make the big hammer clink on theanvil."
"Indeed you can, Michael, and better too than many a young fellow. But,as we were saying, here is M. Henri going to be married, and his ladywill surely be wanting some nice, tidy, handy, good-looking, smart youngwoman to be about her, more as a sort of a companion, you know, than aservant; in the same way, you mind, as I am now to M. Henri: now,wouldn't that be a nice berth for your daughter, Annot Stein?"
As Chapeau described the nice, tidy, smart, pretty young woman, that thefuture Madame de Larochejaquelin would be sure to require, Annotsmoothed down her little apron with both her hands, gave a complaisantglance at her own neat little feet, and her bright holiday shoes, andthen listened eagerly for her father's answer.
"I am sure, M. Chapeau, that Annot Stein is very thankful for your goodwishes," said he, "and so is her father, very thankful; but she has notcourt-breeding enough for that sort of work; she has never learnt tospeak smooth, and say pretty little flattering sayings, such as ladieslike to hear. Nor when Madame would be out of sorts and ruffled, asgreat ladies will be sometimes, would she know how to say the rightword just at the right time; and then Annot has too much of her father'srough blood, and if Madame scolded at all, it's ten chances to one, butshe would scold again, and that, you know, wouldn't do. No, M. Chapeau,Annot had better remain as she is, and keep her father's house, till shemarries some honest tradesman, like myself, when these deadly wars beover."
"Well, but my dear friend," said Chapeau, "I had another littleproposition I wanted to make, which would fit in so well with what Isuggested; and I can assure you Madame Henri, that is Mademoiselle deLescure as she is now, you know, is the softest, sweetest-temperedcreature living--she wouldn't quarrel with any one, much less with sucha little angel as your daughter."
"I'm sure," said Michael, making a low bow to his guest, and pressingthe handle of his pipe to his breast. "I'm sure my daughter will bevery thankful for the great interest you take respecting her."
"But as I was saying, you know, about this other little proposition ofmine?"
"Well, M. Chapeau, I'm listening with all my ears, and very thankful foryour kind friendship."
"You see," said Jacques, "M. Henri is going to change his condition;we've both been young fellows together; we've had our amusements and ourpleasures like other young men, and, maybe, been as fortunate as most.Well, my friend, M. Henri is going to settle down, and marry the girlof his heart, whom he loves better than all the world; and what can Ido better than follow his example? The truth is, I mean to settle downtoo, Michael Stein."
"Well," said Michael, scratching his head, and listening for theremainder of Chapeau's little proposition.
"And I want to marry the girl of my heart, whom I love better than allthe world, and her name is Annot Stein, and there's an end of it; andnow you know all about it."
Annot's heart beat quickly as she heard him make the last importantdeclaration; and beautifully she thought he made it. When Chapeau calledher a little angel, she swore to herself that he was the dearest fellowthat ever lived and when he finished by protesting that she was the girlof his heart, and that he loved her better than all the world, shelonged to run out and throw her arms about his neck.
Michael Stein took a long pull at his pipe, and blew out a huge cloudof tobacco before he made any answer, and then he said:
"M. Chapeau, I am sensible how great an honour you propose to do me andmy poor daughter; but I am not a proud man, no one can say that MichaelStein was ever proud or ambitious; my only wish is to see my little girlmarried to a decent hard-working fellow, like her father."
"Well, ain't I a hard-working fellow?"
"Let me look at your hands, M. Chapeau; the inside of your hands. No,you are not a hard-working fellow; your hand is as soft as a lady's."
"What signifies my hand? I shan't make a worse husband, shall I, becausemy hand is not as horny as your own."
"No, but a hard-fisted fellow is the only man that will suit mydaughter."
"But, Michael Stein, she herself thinks--"
"Who ever heard of asking a girl what she thinks herself? Of courseshe'd sooner be a fine lady, and spend her time walking about a bigchateau than be milking cows and minding goats."
"But won't she be earning her living and her wages honestly?"
"Wages! I don't like those sort of wages, M. Chapeau. I don't mean tosay anything uncivil, and I hope you won't take it amiss, but there aretwo trades I don't fancy for my children: the one is that of a soldier,the other that of a great man's servant."
"Gracious me, Michael Stein! why I'm both," said Chapeau, ratheroffended.
"I beg your pardon again and again, and I really mean no offence: clownas I am, I hope I know better than to say anything to hurt my own guestin my own h
ouse."
Chapeau assured him he was not offended, and begged to know why the oldman objected to see his children become soldiers or servants.
"They've no liberty," said Michael, "though they usually take a deal toomuch licence. They never are allowed to call their time their own,though they often misuse the time that ought to belong to other people."
For a long time Chapeau combatted such arguments as these, but withoutavail; the smith declared that now, as his two sons had become soldiers,it would break his heart if his daughter also were to marry one. Heassured Jacques, with tears running down his rough cheeks, that he couldnot bring himself to give his daughter his blessing, if she left hishouse without his leave to marry a soldier. He declared that he alsoloved her better than all the world, and that he could not bear to partwith her; and his tears and kindly words had such an effect upon Annot,that she could not restrain herself: she burst into tears herself andrunning out of her little room, threw herself into her father's arms.
"Get up, thou simpleton; get up, thou little fool," said he. "Why,Annot, what ails thee?"
"Oh, father! dear father!" said she.
"Get up then, Annot, and I'll speak to thee. I never saw thee in thisway before."
"Oh, father!" she said, sobbing violently, "do you love your poordaughter so very, very much?"
"Love you, Annot! why yes, I do love you. If you'll be a good girl, thatis, I will love you."
"I will be a good girl, dear father; indeed I'll be a good girl; at anyrate I'll try. But then--" and she stood up, and commenced wiping hereyes with her little apron.
"Well, what then, Annot?" said the smith.
"But then--I wouldn't anger you, father, for all the world; indeed Iwouldn't, for you always are so good to me, and I know I don't deserveit," and poor Annot continued sobbing and rubbing her eyes with herapron.
"Nonsense, girl, nonsense!" said Michael; "I don't find any fault withyou. Don't think of getting yourself married till these wars be over,that's all," and he kissed her forehead, and patted her cheek as thoughall the difficulty were over.
"But, father--?" continued Annot, with her apron still to her face.
"Well, child, what is it? By the blessed mass, M. Chapeau, I don't knowwhat the girl's crying for."
"Do you love your own little Annot so very, very much?" said she, andshe put her soft arm round his rough neck, and placed her cheek quiteclose to his.
"There, Annot; why what nonsense, girl! Don't you know I love you?didn't you hear me say so this minute? Leave off, will you, you littleslut! why, what will M. Chapeau think of us? Well, I declare she'scrying still!"
"But if you really, really love me, father--"
"Bother the girl! she knows I love her better than anything else; Godforgive me."
"If you really love me," repeated Annot, nestling her head in herfather's bosom, "you must, you must, you must--do something that I'llask you, father."
"And what is it, child? I doubt much it's nonsense."
"You must love Jacques Chapeau too, father," and having uttered theseimportant words, Annot clung fast to her father's arms, as if she fearedhe was going to throw her off, and sobbed and cried as though her heartwere breaking.
The battle between the contending factions, namely, the father on oneside, and the daughter with her lover on the other, was prolonged fora considerable time, but the success was altogether with Annot. Chapeauwould have had no chance himself against the hard, dry, common sense ofthe smith; but Annot made her appearance just at the right moment,before the father had irrevocably pledged himself, and the old man wasobliged to succumb; he couldn't bring himself to refuse his daughterwhen she was lying on his bosom and appealing to his love; so at lasthe gave way entirely, and promised that he would love Jacques Chapeaualso; and then Chapeau, he also cried; and, I shudder as I write it, healso kissed the tough, bronzed, old wiry smith, and promised that hewould be a good husband and son-in-law.
As soon as Annot had got her wish, and had heard Jacques received as herbetrothed husband, she also was wonderfully dutiful and affectionate.She declared that she didn't want to be married till the wars werenearly over, and the country was a little more quiet; that she wouldnever go away and leave her father altogether, and that if ever she didgo and live at Durbelliere, she would certainly make an agreement withher master and mistress that she should be allowed to walk over to eather dinner with her father every Sunday.
As soon as the smith found himself completely conquered, he resignedhimself to his fate, and became exceedingly happy and good-humoured. Heshook Chapeau's hand fifty times, till he had nearly squeezed it off.He sent to the inn for two bottles of the very best wine that was to behad; he made Annot prepare a second supper, and that not of simple breadand cheese, but of poached eggs and fried bacon, and then he did allthat he possibly could to make Chapeau tipsy, and in the attempt he gotvery drunk himself, and so the day ended happily for them all.