"Our master will do that for you. I swear for him, and who can say that
Parpon was ever a liar?"

The blacksmith's hand tightened on his daughter's shoulder. He was
trembling with excitement.

"Is it true? is it true?" he asked, and the sweat stood out on his
forehead.

"He sends this for Madelinette," answered the dwarf, handing over a
little bag of gold to the girl, who drew back. But Parpon went close to
her, and gently forced it into her hands.

"Open it," he said. She did so, and the blacksmith's eyes gloated on the
gold. Muroc and Duclosse drew near, and peered in also. And so they
stood there for a little while, all looking and exclaiming.

Presently Lajeunesse scratched his head. "Nobody does nothing for
nothing," said he. "What horse do I shoe for this?"

"La, la!" said the charcoalman, sticking a thumb in the blacksmith's
side; "you only give him the happy hand--like that!"

Duclosse was more serious. "It is the will of God that you become a
marshal or a duke," he said wheezingly to the blacksmith. "You can't say
no; it is the will of God, and you must bear it like a man."

The child saw further; perhaps the artistic strain in her gave her keener
reasoning.