"Tears! and why, Father Jean-Claude? That shows you do not know me; you shall find I have courage."
The resolute air with which she uttered these words made Hullin smile; but the smile very quickly vanished when she added: "We are going to war, we are going to fight, we are going into the mountain."
"Heyday! hoity-toity! 'We are going, we are going!' what's all this?" exclaimed the good man, quite wonderstruck.
"Yes. Are we not going, then?" said she, in a tone of regret.
"Well--that is to say--I shall have to leave you for some time, my child."
"To leave me! Oh! no. I shall go with you, that's settled. Stay, see, my little bundle is ready already, and I am preparing yours. Don't you trouble yourself about anything; leave it all to me, and it will be all right."
Hullin could not recover from his surprise.
"But, Louise," he exclaimed, "you cannot be thinking of it. Only consider. Why, you would have to pass whole nights out of doors, marching, running; and then the cold, the snow, and, above all, the firing! It cannot be."
"Pray, now," said the young girl, in a voice that shook with emotion, as she threw herself into his arms, "don't make me unhappy; you are jesting with your little Louise; you cannot mean to leave her!"
"But you will be much better here. You will be warm and comfortable. You shall hear from me every day."
"No, no; I will not stay behind; I will go with you. I don't mind the cold. I've been shut up too long; I want a little change of air, too. The birds don't stay at home. The robin redbreasts are out of doors all the winter long. Did I not have to bear the cold when I was quite a little thing, and hunger, too?"
She stamped impatiently with her foot, and then, for the third time, threw her arms round Jean-Claude's neck.
"Come, Papa Hullin," said she, in a coaxing voice, "Mother Lefévre has said 'Yes.' Will you be less kind than she? Ah! if you but knew how I love you!"
The honest fellow, touched beyond measure, had sat himself down, and turned aside his head to hide his emotion and avoid her persuasive caresses.
"Oh! how unkind and naughty you are to-day, Papa Jean-Claude!"
"So much the worse, then, for I shall run away; I shall run after you. The cold, indeed! What do I care for the cold? And if you are wounded, and if you ask to see your little Louise for the last time, and she is not there close to you, to tend you, to love you to the last? Oh! you must think me very hard-hearted!"