Pontiac!"

He drank, and they all did the same. Draining his glass, Medallion let
it fall on the stone floor. It broke into a score of pieces.

He came and shook hands with Lajeunesse. "Give her my love," he said.
"Tell her the highest bidder on earth could not buy one of the kisses
she gave me when she was five and I was twenty."

Then he shook hands with them all and went into the next room.

"Why did he drop his glass?" asked Gingras the shoemaker.

"That's the way of the aristocrats when it's the damnedest toast that
ever was," said Duclosse the mealman. "Eh, Lajeunesse, that's so, isn't
it?"

"What the devil do I know about aristocrats!" said Lajeunesse.

"You're among the best of the land, now that Madelinette's married to
the Seigneur. You ought to wear a collar every day."

"Bah!" answered the blacksmith. "I'm only old Lajeunesse the blacksmith,
though she's my girl, dear lads. I was Joe Lajeunesse yesterday, and
I'll be Joe Lajeunesse to-morrow, and I'll die Joe Lajeunesse the
forgeron--bagosh! So you take me as you find me. M'sieu' Racine doesn't
marry me. And Madelinette doesn't take me to Paris and lead me round the
stage and say, 'This is M'sieu' Lajeunesse, my father.' No. I'm myself,
and a damn good blacksmith and nothing else am I!"

"Tut, tut, old leather-belly," said Gingras the shoemaker, whose liquor
had mounted high, "you'll not need to work now. Madelinette's got double
fortune. She gets thousands for a song, and she's lady of the Manor
here. What's too good for you, tell me that, my forgeron?"

"Not working between meals--that's too good for me, Gingras. I'm here to
earn my bread with the hands I was born with, and to eat what they earn,
and live by it. Let a man live according to his gifts--bagosh! Till I'm
sent for, that's what I'll do; and when time's up I'll take my hand off
the bellows, and my leather apron can go to you, Gingras, for boots for
a bigger fool than me."

"There's only one," said Benolt, the ne'er-do-weel, who had been to
college as a boy.

"Who's that?" said Muroc.

"You wouldn't know his name. He's trying to find eggs in last year's
nest," answered Benolt with a leer.

"He means the Seigneur," said Muroc. "Look to your son-in-law,
Lajeunesse. He's kicking up a dust that'll choke Pontiac yet. It's as if
there was an imp in him driving him on."

"We've had enough of the devil's dust here," said Lajeunesse. "Has he
been talking to you, Muroc?"

Muroc nodded. "