you as to me and the meal man. Duclosse there used to look like
a pie when the meal and sweat dried on him. When we reach Paris, and
His Excellency gets his own, I'll take to charcoal again; I'll fill the
palace cellars. That suits me better than chalk and washing every day."

"Do you think we'll ever get to Paris?" asked the mealman, cocking his
head seriously.

"That's the will of God, and the weather at sea, and what the Orleans
do," answered Muroc grinning.

It was hard to tell how deep this adventure lay in Muroc's mind. He had
a prodigious sense of humour, the best critic in the world.

"For me," said the lime-burner, "I think there'll be fighting before we
get to the Orleans. There's talk that the Gover'ment's coming against
us."

"Done!" said the charcoalman. "We'll see the way our great man puts
their noses out of joint."

"Here's Lajeunesse," broke in the mealman, as the blacksmith came near
to their fire. He was dressed in complete regimentals, made by the
parish tailor.

"Is that so, monsieur le capitaine?" said Muroc to Lajeunesse. "Is the
Gover'ment to be fighting us? Why should it? We're only for licking the
Orleans, and who cares a sou for them, hein?"

"Not a go-dam," said Duclosse, airing his one English oath. "The English
hate the Orleans too." Lajeunesse looked from one to the other, then
burst into a laugh. "There's two gills of rum for every man at twelve
o'clock to-day, so says His Excellency; and two yellow buttons for the
coat of every sergeant, and five for every captain. The English up there
in Quebec can't do better than that, can they? And will they? No. Does a
man spend money on a hell's foe, unless he means to give it work to do?
Pish! Is His Excellency like to hang back because Monsieur De la Riviere
says he'll fetch the Government? Bah! The bully soldiers would come
with us as they went with the Great Napoleon at Grenoble. Ah, that! His
Excellency told me about that just now. Here stood the soldiers,"--he
mapped out the ground with his sword, "here stood the Great Napoleon,
all alone. He looks straight before him. What does he see? Nothing less
than a hundred muskets pointing at him. What does he do? He walks up to
the soldiers, opens his coat, and says, 'Soldiers, comrades, is there
one of you will kill your Emperor?' Damned if there was one! They
dropped their muskets, and took to kissing his hands. There, my dears,
that was the Great Emperor's way, our Emperor's father's litt