Valmond knew this as well as
did the young Seigneur.

CHAPTER VII

It was no jest of Valmond's that he would, or could, have five hundred
followers in two weeks. Lagroin and Parpon were busy, each in his own
way--Lagroin, open, bluff, imperative; Parpon, silent, acute, shrewd.
Two days before the feast of St. John the Baptist, the two made a
special tour through the parish for certain recruits. If these could be
enlisted, a great many men of this and other parishes would follow. They
were, by name, Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the mealman, Lajeunesse
the blacksmith, and Garotte the limeburner, all men of note, after their
kind, with influence and individuality.

Lagroin chafed that he must play recruiting-sergeant and general also.
But it gave him comfort to remember that the Great Emperor had not
at times disdained to be his own recruiting-sergeant; that, after
Friedland, he himself had been taken into the Old Guard by the Emperor;
that Davoust had called him brother; that Ney had shared his supper and
slept with him under the same blanket. Parpon would gladly have done
this work alone, but he knew that Lagroin in his regimentals would be
useful.

The sought-for comrades were often to be found together about the noon
hour in the shop of Jose Lajeunesse. They formed the coterie of the
humble, even as the Cure's coterie represented the aristocracy of
Pontiac--with Medallion as a connecting link.

Arches and poles were being put up, to be decorated against the
feast-day, and piles of wood for bonfires were arranged at points on the
hills round the village. Cheer and goodwill were everywhere, for a fine
harvest was in view, and this feast-day always brought gladness and
simple revelling. Parish interchanged with parish; but, because it was
so remote, Pontiac was its own goal of pleasure, and few fared forth,
though others came from Ville Bambord and elsewhere to join the fete.
As Lagroin and the dwarf came to the door of the smithy, they heard the
loud laugh of Lajeunesse.

"Good!" said Parpon. "Hear how he tears his throat!"

"If he has sense, I'll make a captain of him," remarked Lagroin
consequentially.

"You shall beat him into a captain on his own anvil," rejoined the
little man.

They entered the shop. Lajeunesse was leaning on his bellows, laughing,
and holding an iron in the spitting fire; Muroc was seated on the edge
of the cooling tub; and Duclosse was resting on a bag of his excellent
meal