on threw these words at their heads as he would have
done a stone: "He is named Philip, my papa."

Yells of delight burst out from all sides.

"Philip who? Philip what? What on earth is Philip? Where did you pick up
your Philip?"

Simon answered nothing; and, immovable in his faith, he defied them with
his eye, ready to be martyred rather than fly before them. The school
master came to his rescue and he returned home to his mother.

During three months, the tall workman, Philip, frequently passed by La
Blanchotte's house, and sometimes he made bold to speak to her when he
saw her sewing near the window. She answered him civilly, always
sedately, never joking with him, nor permitting him to enter her house.
Notwithstanding, being, like all men, a bit of a coxcomb, he imagined
that she was often rosier than usual when she chatted with him.

But a lost reputation is so difficult to regain and always remains so
fragile that, in spite of the shy reserve of La Blanchotte, they already
gossiped in the neighborhood.

As for Simon he loved his new papa very much, and walked with him nearly
every evening when the day's work was done. He went regularly to school,
and mixed with great dignity with his schoolfellows without ever
answering them back.

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him:

"You have lied. You have not a papa named Philip."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much disturbed.

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied:

"Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband."

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning; nevertheless, he
retorted:

"He is my papa, all the same."

"That can very well be," exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, "but that is
not being your papa altogether."

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in the
direction of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Philip worked. This
forge was as though buried beneath trees. It was very dark there; the red
glare of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashes five
blacksmiths; who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din. They
were standing enveloped in flame, like demons, their eyes fixed on the
red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rose and fell with
their hammers.

Simon entered without being noticed, and went quietly to pluck his friend
by the sleeve. The latter turned round. All at once the work came to a
standstill, and all the men lo