Having finished speaking, the priest also jumped off the wall, and again the people shouted and cheered. And now they went to work with the lists: Henri, the Mayor, and the Cure each took a pencil, and called the names of the different men, as they were written down. There was of course much delay in getting the men as they were called; but Chapeau had sworn in three or four a.s.sistants, and he and they dived in among the crowd, hurried this way and that, and shouted, screamed, and screeched with great effect. The lists were made out with some regard to the localities; the men from the lower end of the village were to go to Henri's side; those from the northern part to Father Jerome's table; and the inhabitants of the intermediate village were checked off by the Mayor. Chapeau and his friends were most diligent in marshalling them; to be sure, Jacques knew the names of but few of them; but he made them tell him whether they were villagers, northerns, or lower-end men; and though the men in many instances couldn't answer this themselves, the divisions were effected, the names of all were called over, those who were there were checked off and informed what was expected of them, and where and by whom arms would be supplied to them: and those who were not there became the unhappy victims of a black list.

Father Jerome, when he said that there were only five absent, was something but not much out in his reckoning: his object, however, had been to make the people think that he knew exactly who was there, and who was not there; and in this he was successful. During the calling of the lists, one or two stragglers dropped in who hoped to escape detection: respecting a few others, some good ground of excuse was alleged; but on this head the Cure was most severe: he would accept no plea but that of absolute downright sickness, and of this he required to have most ample testimony--even Henri sometimes pleaded for the people, but unsuccessfully. The Republic by their proscription would have decimated the men; the Cure of St. Laud insisted on taking them all.

The houses of those who had not presented themselves were to be visited, and the two first on the list were Jean and Peter Stein.

"Jean and Peter Stein," said Henri. "Why, Jacques, are they not friends of yours? are they not sons of Michael Stein, the smith?"

"Quiet, M. Henri; pray be quiet for a moment, and I will explain."

"Are they not strong, active lads," said the Cure, turning somewhat angrily on Chapeau, as though he were responsible for the principles of his friends.

"They are, they are, your reverence, fine strong active lads as you ever laid your eyes on."

"And they are afraid to carry a musket for their king?"

"Not a bit, Father Jerome, not a bit afraid; nor yet unwilling, M.

Henri. I will explain it all; only let us be a little by ourselves."

"There is a mystery, Father Jerome," said Henri, "and Chapeau must have his own way in explaining it."

"Exactly, M. Henri; I will explain all." By this time he had got the priest and his master somewhat out of the crowd. "You see, M. Henri, there are not two young men in the Bocage more determined to fight for the good cause this moment, than Jean and Peter Stein."

"Why, Jacques, I do not see it yet, certainly."

"Oh! Sir, it's a fact; they are dying to have a musket in their hands.

I pledge for them my word of honour," and Jacques laid his hand upon his heart. "You will find they are with me, your reverence, when I meet you at the cross-roads, within half a mile of Coron, on Monday morning. But, M. Henri, they have a father."

"Have a father!" said the Cure, "of course they have."

"You don't mean to tell me that Michael Stein, the smith, is a republican?"

"A republican!" said Jaques. "Oh! no, the heavens preserve us, he's nothing so bad as that, or his own son wouldn't remain under his roof another night, or his daughter either. No; Annot wouldn't remain with him another hour, were he twenty times her father, if he turned republican."

"Why does he prevent his sons joining the muster, then?" said Henri.

"He is very fond of money, M. Henri. Old Michael Stein is very fond of money; and every one in the country who owns a franc at all, is buying an old sword or a gun, or turning a reaping-hook into a sabre, or getting a long pike made with an axe at the end of it; so Michael Stein's smithy is turned into a perfect armoury, and he and his two sons are at work at the anvil morning, noon, and night: they made Annot blow the bellows this morning, till she looks for all the world like a tinker's wife."

"That alters the case," said Father Jerome; "they are doing good service, if they are making arms for our men; they are better employed than though they joined us themselves."

"Don't say so, Father Jerome," said Jacques, "pray don't say so, Jean and Peter would die were they not to be of the party at Saumur; but Michael is so pa.s.sionate and so headstrong, and he swears they shall not go. Now go they will, and therefore I supplicate that my word may be taken, and that I may be saved the dishonour of hearing the names of my friends read out aloud with those of men who will disgrace their parish and their country."

The request of Jacques was granted, and the names of Jean and Peter Stein were erased from the top of the black list.

It was eight in the evening before the recruiting party had finished their work, and it was not yet noon when they rode into the little village. Henri and the Cure got their supper and slept at the Mayor's house, and even there they were not allowed to be quiet; some of those who were to be at Saumur, were continually calling for new instructions; one wanted to know what arms he was to carry, another what provisions he was to bring, a third was anxious to be a corporal, and a fourth and fifth begged that they might not be separated, as one was going to marry the sister of the other. None of these were turned away unanswered; the door of the Mayor's house was not closed for a moment, and Henri, to be enabled to eat his supper at all, was obliged to give his last military orders with a crust of bread in his hand, and his mouth full of meat.

As might be supposed, Jacques spent the evening with Annot Stein, at least it was his intention to have done so; but he had been so leading a person in the day's transactions that he also was besieged by the villagers, and was hardly able to whisper a word into his sweetheart's ear. There he sat, however, very busy and supremely happy in the smith's kitchen, with a pipe in his mouth and a bottle of wine before him. The old smith sat opposite to him, while the two young men stood among a lot of others round the little table, and Annot bustled in and out of the room, now going close enough up to her lover to enable him to pinch her elbow unseen by her father, and then leaning against the dresser, and listening to his military eloquence.

"And so, my friend," said Chapeau, "Jean and Peter are not to go to Saumur?"

"Not a foot, Chapeau," said the old man, "not a foot, Chapeau; let ye fight, we will make swords for you: is not that fair, neighbour?"

"I have nothing to say against it, M. Stein, not a word; only such fellows as they, they would surely get promoted."

"Oh, ay; you will all be sergeants, no doubt. I have nothing to say against that; only none of mine shall go waging wars in distant lands."

"Distant lands, say you! is not Saumur in Anjou? and is not Anjou within three miles of you, here where you are sitting?"

"May be so, M. Chapeau; but still, with your leave, I say Saumur is distant. Can you get there in one day from here?"

"Why no, not in one day."

"Nor in two?"

"Why, no again; though they might do it in two. They'll start from here Monday morning with light, and they'll reach Saumur on Wednesday in time to look about them, and learn what they have to do the next morning."

"That's three day's going, and three coming, and heaven only knows how many days there; and you don't call that distant! Who's to feed them all I'd like to know?"

"Feed them!" said Chapeau. "I wish you could see all the bullocks and the wine at Durbelliere; they'll have rations like fighting-c.o.c.ks. I only pray that too much good living make them not lazy."

"Were I a man," said Annot, as she put on the table a fresh bottle of wine, which she had just brought in from the little inn, "were I a man, as I would I were, I would go, whether or no."

"Would you, minx," said the father; "it's well for you that your petticoats keep you at home."

"Don't be too sure of her, Michael Stein," said Paul Rouel, the keeper of the inn; "she'll marry a soldier yet before the wars are over."

"Let her do as her mother did before her, and marry an honest tradesman; that is, if she can find one to take her."

"Find one!" said Annot, "if I can't get a husband without finding one, indeed, I'm sure I'll not fash myself with seeking: let him find me that wants me."

"And it won't be the first that finds you either, that'll be allowed to take to you, will it Annot?" said the innkeeper.

"That's as may be, Master Rouel," said Annot. "Those who ask no questions are seldom told many lies."

"I know Annot Stein loves a soldier in her heart," said another old man, who was sitting inside the large open chimney. "The girls think there is no trade like soldiering. I went for a soldier when I was young, and it was all to oblige Lolotte Gobelin; and what think ye, when I was gone, she got married to Jean Geldert, down at Pet.i.t Ange. There's nothing for the girls like soldiering."

"You give us great encouragement truly," said Jacques. "I hope our sweethearts will not all do as Lolotte did. You would not serve your lover so, when he was fighting for his King and country--would you, Annot?"

"I might, then, if I didn't like him," said she.

"She's no better than her neighbours, M. Chapeau," said one of her brothers. "There was young Boullin, the baker, at St. Paul's. Till we heard of these wars, Annot was as fond of him as could be. It was none but he then; but now, she will not as much as turn her head if she sees his white jacket."

"Hold thine unmannerly, loutish, stupid tongue, wilt thou, thou dolt,"

said Annot, deeply offended. "Boullin indeed! I danced with him last harvest-home; I know not why, unless for sheer good-nature; and now, forsooth, I am to have Boullin for ever thrust in my teeth. Bah! I hate a baker. I would as lieve take a butcher at once."

Jacques Chapean also was offended.

"I wonder, Jean Stein," said he, "that you know not better than to liken your sister to such as young Boullin--a very good young man in his way, I have no doubt. You should remember there is a difference in these things."