, his love for his daughter, his simple
faith in this new creed of patriotism, his tenderness of heart, joined
to his irascible disposition, spasmodic humour, and strong arm, roused
in Valmond an immediate liking, as keen, after its kind, as that he had
for the Cure; and the avocat. With both of these he had had long talks
of late, on everything but purely personal matters. They would have
thought it a gross breach of etiquette to question him on that which
he avoided. His admiration of them was complete, although he sometimes
laughed half sadly, half whimsically, as he thought of their simple
faith in him.

At dusk on the eve of St. John the Baptist's Day, after a long
conference with Lagroin and Parpon, Valmond went through the village,
and came to the smithy to talk with Lajeunesse. Those who recognised him
in passing took off their bonnets rouges, some saying, "Good-night,
your Highness;" some, "How are you, monseigneur?" some, "God bless
your Excellency;" and a batch of bacchanalian river-men, who had been
drinking, called him "General," and insisted on embracing him, offering
him cognac from their tin flasks.

The appearance among them of old Madame Degardy shifted the good-natured
attack. For many a year, winter and summer, she had come and gone in the
parish, all rags and tatters, wearing men's kneeboots and cap, her
grey hair hanging down in straggling curls, her lower lip thrust out
fiercely, her quick eyes wandering to and fro, and her sharp tongue,
like Parpon's, clearing a path before her whichever way she turned. On
her arm she carried a little basket of cakes and confitures, and these
she dreamed she sold, for they were few who bought of Crazy Joan. The
stout stick she carried was as compelling as her tongue, so that when
the river-men surrounded her in amiable derision, it was used freely
and with a heart all kindness: "For the good of their souls," she said,
"since the Cure was too mild, Mary in heaven bless him high and low!"

She was the Cure's champion everywhere, and he in turn was tender
towards the homeless body, whose history even to him was obscure, save
in the few particulars that he had given to Valmond the last time they
had met.

In her youth Madame Degardy was pretty and much admired. Her lover had
deserted her, and in a fit of mad indignation and despair she had fled
from the village, and vanished no one knew where, though it had been
declared by a wandering hunter that she had been se