With hands clasped the new recruits sang:

"When from the war we come,
Allons gai!
Oh, when we ride back home,
If we be spared that day,
Ma luronne lurette,
We'll laugh our scars away,
Ma luronne lure,
We'll lift the latch and stay,
Ma luronne lure."

The huge frame of the blacksmith, his love for his daughter, his simple
faith in this new creed of patriotism, his tenderness of heart, joined to
his irascible disposition, spasmodic humour, and strong arm, roused in
Valmond an immediate liking, as keen, after its kind, as that he had for
the Cure; and the avocat. With both of these he had had long talks of
late, on everything but purely personal matters. They would have thought
it a gross breach of etiquette to question him on that which he avoided.
His admiration of them was complete, although he sometimes laughed half
sadly, half whimsically, as he thought of their simple faith in him.

At dusk on the eve of St. John the Baptist's Day, after a long conference
with Lagroin and Parpon, Valmond went through the village, and came to
the smithy to talk with Lajeunesse. Those who recognised him in passing
took off their bonnets rouges, some saying, "Good-night, your Highness;"
some, "How are you, monseigneur?" some, "God bless your Excellency;" and
a batch of bacchanalian river-men, who had been drinking, called him
"General," and insisted on embracing him, offering him cognac from their