and mixed with great dignity with his school-fellows without ever
answering them back.

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him:

"You have lied. You have not a Papa named Phillip."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much disturbed.

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied:

"Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband."

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning, nevertheless he
retorted:

"He is my Papa all the same."

"That can very well be," exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, "but that is
not being your Papa altogether."

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in the
direction of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Phillip worked.

This forge was as though entombed in trees. It was very dark there, the
red glare of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashes five
blacksmiths, who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din. They
were standing enveloped in flame, like demons, their eyes fixed on the
red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rose and fell with
their hammers.

Simon entered without being noticed and went quietly to pluck his friend
by the sleeve. He turned himself round. All at once the work came to a
standstill and all the men looked on very attentive. Then, in the midst
of this unaccustomed silence, rose the little slender pipe of Simon:

"Phillip, explain to me what the lad at La Michande has just told me,
that you are not altogether my Papa."

"And why that?" asked the smith.

The child replied with all its innocence:

"Because you are not my mamma's husband."

No one laughed. Philip remained standing, leaning his forehead upon
the back of his great hands, which supported the handle of his hammer
standing upright upon the anvil. He mused. His four companions watched
him, and, quite a tiny mite among these giants, Simon anxiously waited.
Suddenly, one of the smiths, answering to the sentiment of all, said to
Phillip:

"La Blanchotte is all the same a good and honest girl, and stalwart and
steady in spite of her misfortune, and one who would make a worthy wife
for a honest man."

"That is true," remarked the three others.

The smith continued:

"Is it this girl's fault if she has fallen? She had been promised
marriage and I know more than one who is much respected to-day, and who
sinned every bit as much."

"That is true," responded the three men in chorus.

He resumed: