"I hope not; in truth, M. Chapeau, I hope not; though they do say that they be not wise who put their trust in princes."

"Princes!" said Jacques, "I am not talking of princes, I am talking of the King himself, G.o.d bless him!"

"Well, perhaps, that does make a difference; and I say, G.o.d bless him too, with all my heart."

"I suppose you've heard, Michael Stein, that our young General, M.

Henri, is going to be married?"

"Is he then?" said Michael. "No, truly, I did not hear a word of such a matter; to some grand lady of the court, I suppose?"

"No, but to his own beautiful young cousin, Mademoiselle de Lescure, the sister of our other General, you know."

"Well, may they be happy, both of them; I mind their fathers well; the old Marquis is still alive, but greatly ailing they tell me. I have much to be thankful for, and I do thank the Lord!" and as he spoke, Michael Stein crossed himself. "Now, I'm as old in a manner as the Marquis himself and yet you see I can still make the big hammer clink on the anvil."

"Indeed you can, Michael, and better too than many a young fellow. But, as we were saying, here is M. Henri going to be married, and his lady will surely be wanting some nice, tidy, handy, good-looking, smart young woman to be about her, more as a sort of a companion, you know, than a servant; in the same way, you mind, as I am now to M. Henri: now, wouldn't that be a nice berth for your daughter, Annot Stein?"

As Chapeau described the nice, tidy, smart, pretty young woman, that the future Madame de Larochejaquelin would be sure to require, Annot smoothed down her little ap.r.o.n with both her hands, gave a complaisant glance at her own neat little feet, and her bright holiday shoes, and then listened eagerly for her father's answer.

"I am sure, M. Chapeau, that Annot Stein is very thankful for your good wishes," said he, "and so is her father, very thankful; but she has not court-breeding enough for that sort of work; she has never learnt to speak smooth, and say pretty little flattering sayings, such as ladies like to hear. Nor when Madame would be out of sorts and ruffled, as great ladies will be sometimes, would she know how to say the right word just at the right time; and then Annot has too much of her father's rough blood, and if Madame scolded at all, it's ten chances to one, but she would scold again, and that, you know, wouldn't do. No, M. Chapeau, Annot had better remain as she is, and keep her father's house, till she marries some honest tradesman, like myself, when these deadly wars be over."

"Well, but my dear friend," said Chapeau, "I had another little proposition I wanted to make, which would fit in so well with what I suggested; and I can a.s.sure you Madame Henri, that is Mademoiselle de Lescure as she is now, you know, is the softest, sweetest-tempered creature living--she wouldn't quarrel with any one, much less with such a little angel as your daughter."

"I'm sure," said Michael, making a low bow to his guest, and pressing the handle of his pipe to his breast. "I'm sure my daughter will be very thankful for the great interest you take respecting her."

"But as I was saying, you know, about this other little proposition of mine?"

"Well, M. Chapeau, I'm listening with all my ears, and very thankful for your kind friendship."

"You see," said Jacques, "M. Henri is going to change his condition; we've both been young fellows together; we've had our amus.e.m.e.nts and our pleasures like other young men, and, maybe, been as fortunate as most.

Well, my friend, M. Henri is going to settle down, and marry the girl of his heart, whom he loves better than all the world; and what can I do better than follow his example? The truth is, I mean to settle down too, Michael Stein."

"Well," said Michael, scratching his head, and listening for the remainder of Chapeau's little proposition.

"And I want to marry the girl of my heart, whom I love better than all the world, and her name is Annot Stein, and there's an end of it; and now you know all about it."

Annot's heart beat quickly as she heard him make the last important declaration; and beautifully she thought he made it. When Chapeau called her a little angel, she swore to herself that he was the dearest fellow that ever lived and when he finished by protesting that she was the girl of his heart, and that he loved her better than all the world, she longed to run out and throw her arms about his neck.

Michael Stein took a long pull at his pipe, and blew out a huge cloud of tobacco before he made any answer, and then he said:

"M. Chapeau, I am sensible how great an honour you propose to do me and my poor daughter; but I am not a proud man, no one can say that Michael Stein was ever proud or ambitious; my only wish is to see my little girl married to a decent hard-working fellow, like her father."

"Well, ain't I a hard-working fellow?"

"Let me look at your hands, M. Chapeau; the inside of your hands. No, you are not a hard-working fellow; your hand is as soft as a lady's."

"What signifies my hand? I shan't make a worse husband, shall I, because my hand is not as h.o.r.n.y as your own."

"No, but a hard-fisted fellow is the only man that will suit my daughter."

"But, Michael Stein, she herself thinks--"

"Who ever heard of asking a girl what she thinks herself? Of course she'd sooner be a fine lady, and spend her time walking about a big chateau than be milking cows and minding goats."

"But won't she be earning her living and her wages honestly?"

"Wages! I don't like those sort of wages, M. Chapeau. I don't mean to say anything uncivil, and I hope you won't take it amiss, but there are two trades I don't fancy for my children: the one is that of a soldier, the other that of a great man's servant."

"Gracious me, Michael Stein! why I'm both," said Chapeau, rather offended.

"I beg your pardon again and again, and I really mean no offence: clown as I am, I hope I know better than to say anything to hurt my own guest in my own house."

Chapeau a.s.sured him he was not offended, and begged to know why the old man objected to see his children become soldiers or servants.

"They've no liberty," said Michael, "though they usually take a deal too much licence. They never are allowed to call their time their own, though they often misuse the time that ought to belong to other people."

For a long time Chapeau combatted such arguments as these, but without avail; the smith declared that now, as his two sons had become soldiers, it would break his heart if his daughter also were to marry one. He a.s.sured Jacques, with tears running down his rough cheeks, that he could not bring himself to give his daughter his blessing, if she left his house without his leave to marry a soldier. He declared that he also loved her better than all the world, and that he could not bear to part with her; and his tears and kindly words had such an effect upon Annot, that she could not restrain herself: she burst into tears herself and running out of her little room, threw herself into her father's arms.

"Get up, thou simpleton; get up, thou little fool," said he. "Why, Annot, what ails thee?"

"Oh, father! dear father!" said she.

"Get up then, Annot, and I'll speak to thee. I never saw thee in this way before."

"Oh, father!" she said, sobbing violently, "do you love your poor daughter so very, very much?"

"Love you, Annot! why yes, I do love you. If you'll be a good girl, that is, I will love you."

"I will be a good girl, dear father; indeed I'll be a good girl; at any rate I'll try. But then--" and she stood up, and commenced wiping her eyes with her little ap.r.o.n.

"Well, what then, Annot?" said the smith.

"But then--I wouldn't anger you, father, for all the world; indeed I wouldn't, for you always are so good to me, and I know I don't deserve it," and poor Annot continued sobbing and rubbing her eyes with her ap.r.o.n.

"Nonsense, girl, nonsense!" said Michael; "I don't find any fault with you. Don't think of getting yourself married till these wars be over, that's all," and he kissed her forehead, and patted her cheek as though all the difficulty were over.

"But, father--?" continued Annot, with her ap.r.o.n still to her face.

"Well, child, what is it? By the blessed ma.s.s, M. Chapeau, I don't know what the girl's crying for."

"Do you love your own little Annot so very, very much?" said she, and she put her soft arm round his rough neck, and placed her cheek quite close to his.

"There, Annot; why what nonsense, girl! Don't you know I love you?

didn't you hear me say so this minute? Leave off, will you, you little s.l.u.t! why, what will M. Chapeau think of us? Well, I declare she's crying still!"

"But if you really, really love me, father--"

"Bother the girl! she knows I love her better than anything else; G.o.d forgive me."