Parpon

“ The Cure smiled at Parpon’s words, and looked curiously and gravely at the stranger. Tall Medallion the auctioneer took a glass of the wine, and, lifting it, said: “Who shall I drink to, Parpon, my dear? What is he?”
“Ten to one, a dauphin or a fool,” answered Parpon, with a laugh like the note of an organ. “Drink to both, Long-legs.” Then he trotted away to the Little Chemist.
“Hush, my friend!” said he, and he drew the other’s ear down to his mouth. “Now there’ll be plenty of work for you. We’re going to be gay in Pontiac. We’ll come to you with our spoiled stomachs.” ”

“ Madame Degardy quickly emptied into a cup of liquor the strange brown powder, mixed it, and held it to the girl's lips, pouring it slowly down.
Once, twice, during the next hour, a low, anguished voice filled the room; but just as dawn came, Parpon stooped and tenderly wiped a soft moisture from the face, lying so quiet and peaceful now against the pillow.
"She breathes easy, poor pretty bird!" said the old woman gently.
"She'll never see again?" asked Parpon mournfully. "Never a thing while she lives," was the whispered reply.
"But she has her life," said the dwarf; "she wished it so." ”

“ It is my mind," said Benoit, "that a man that nature twists in back, or leg, or body anywhere, gets a twist in's brain too. There's Parpon the dwarf—God knows, Parpon is a nut to crack!"
"But Parpon isn't married to the greatest singer in the world, though she's only the daughter of old leather-belly there!" said Gingras.
"Something doesn't come of nothing, snub-nose!" said Lajeunesse. "Mark you, I was born a man of fame, walking bloody paths to glory, but by the grace of Heaven and my baptism I became a forgeron. Let others ride to glory, I'll shoe their horses for the gallop." ”

“ He had said to himself many times that even Armand de la Rivière would envy him.
Sometimes Parpon went off away into the Bois Noir, and, perched there in a tree, sang away—a man, shaped something like an animal, with a voice like a muffled silver bell.
Some of his songs he had made himself: wild things, broken thoughts, not altogether human; the language of a world between man and the spirits. But it was all pleasant to hear, even when, at times, there ran a weird, dark thread through the woof. No one in the valley had ever heard the thing he sang softly as he sat looking down at Julie ”

“ She looked helplessly round the room. "I will kill you!"
"Let us die together," answered Parpon; "we are both sad."
She snatched the poker from the fire, and ran at him. He caught her wrists with his great hands, big enough for tall Medallion, and held her.
"I said 'together,"' he chuckled; "not one before the other. We might jump into the flume at the mill, or go over the dam at the Bois Noir; or, there is Farette's musket which he is cleaning—gracious, but it will kick when it fires, it is so old!" ”

“ Who is he? Where does he come from? Why is he here? How long will he stay? Tell me, how long will se stay?" She caught flutteringly at Parpon's shoulder. "You remember what I sang the other night?" he asked.
"Yes, yes," she answered quickly. "Oh, how beautiful it was! Ah, Parpon, why don't you sing for us oftener, and all the world would love you, and—"
"I don't love the world," he retorted gruffly; "and I'll sing for the devil" (she crossed herself) "as soon as for silly gossips in Pontiac."
"Well, well!" she asked; "what had your song to do with him, with
Monsieur Valmond?" ”

“ The clever imp hid it all these years—even from you, Monsieur le Cure."
"Even from me," said the Cure, smiling. Then, gravely: "It is strange, the angel in the stunted body." "Are you sure it's an angel?" said Armand.
"Who ever knew Parpon do any harm?" queried the Cure.
"He has always been kind to the poor," put in the Avocat.
"With the miller's flour," laughed Medallion: "a pardonable sin." He sent a quizzical look at the Cure. "Do you remember the words of Parpon's song?" asked Armand.
"Only a few lines; and those not easy to understand, unless one had an inkling." ”

“ If you hate yourself, you’ll get a big penance. Hate the ugly like Parpon, not the pretty like you. The one’s no sin, the other is.”
She was beside the open door of the oven; and it would be hard to tell whether her face was suffering from heat or from blushes. However that might chance, her mouth was soft and sweet, and her eyes were still wet.
“Who is he, Parpon?” she asked, not looking at him.
“Is he like Duclosse the mealman, or Lajeunesse the blacksmith, or Garotte the lime-burner-and the rest?” ”

“ Parpon quickly turned towards it. “See here, Madelinette,” he said, in a low voice. The girl stepped inside and came to her father. Lajeunesse’s arm ran round her shoulder. There was no corner of his heart into which she had not crept. “Out with it, Parpon!” called the blacksmith hoarsely, for the daughter’s voice had followed herself into those farthest corners of his rugged nature.
“I will teach her to sing first; then she shall go to Quebec, and afterwards to Paris, my friend,” he answered. ”

“ The Curé turned to the altar and raised the bag towards it in ascription and thanksgiving, then he turned to Parpon again, but the dwarf was trotting away down the aisle and from the church.
"Dear children," said the Curé, "we are saved, and we are not shamed." He held up the bag. "Parpon has brought us two thousand dollars: we shall have food to eat, and there shall be more money against seed-time. The giver of this good gift demands that his name be not known. Such is all true charity. Let us pray." ”

“ And the hill-dwarf laughs in the young wife’s ear,
When the devil comes back to town—
C’est la!"
It was crooned quietly, but it was distinct and melodious, and the cat purred an accompaniment, its head thrust into his thick black hair. From where Parpon sat he could see the House with the Tall Porch, and, as he sang, his eyes ran from the miller’s doorway to it.
Off in the grounds of the dead Seigneur’s manor he could see a man push the pebbles with his foot, or twist the branch of a shrub thoughtfully as he walked. At last another man entered the garden. ”

“ This drinking-song, hummed just above his breath, touched some antique memory in Monsieur Garen the avocat, and he nodded kindly at the dwarf, though he refused the wine.
"Ah, M'sieu' le Cure," said Parpon, ducking his head to avoid the hand that Medallion would have laid on it, "we're going to be somebody now in Pontiac, bless the Lord! We're simple folk, but we're not neglected. He wears a ribbon on his breast, M'sieu' le Cure!" ”

“ Julie slyly eyed the wardrobe and as slyly smiled, and then, imitating Farette’s manner—though Farette could not see it, and Parpon spluttered with laughter—said:
"M’sieu’, you are a great man. The grey poplin is noble, also the flour, and the writing on the brown paper. M’sieu’, you go to Mass, and all your teeth are sound; you have a dog-churn, also three feather-beds, and five rag carpets; you have sat on the grand jury. M’sieu’, I have a dot; I accept you. M’sieu’, I will keep the brown paper, and the grey poplin, and the flour." ”

“ The great hills waved into each other like a vast violet sea, and, in turn, the tiny earth-waves on each separate hill swelled into the larger harmony. At the foot of a steep precipice was the whirlpool from which Parpon, at great risk, had rescued the father of De la Riviere, and had received this lonely region as his reward. To the dwarf it was his other world, his real home ”

“ The old sergeant's face flushed, and his hand dropped to his sword; but he had promised Parpon to say nothing till he got his cue, and he would keep his word. So he disposed himself in an attitude of martial attention. The dwarf bowed to the others with a face of as great gravity as the charcoalman's, and waving his hand, said:
"Keep your seats, my children, and God be with you. You are right, smutty-face; I am Monsieur Talleyrand, Minister of the Crown."
"The devil, you say!" cried the mealman.
"Tut, tut!" said Lajeunesse, chaffing; "haven't you heard the news?
The devil is dead!" ”

“ Armand nodded to Medallion, and Medallion to the priest, but the priest nodded back again. Then Medallion said: “You and I know the Rock of Red Pigeons, Parpon. It is a good place to perch. One’s voice is all to one’s self there, as you know. Well, sing us the song of the little brown diver.”
Parpon’s hands twitched in his beard. He looked fixedly at Medallion. Presently he turned towards the Cure, and shrank so that he looked smaller still. ”

“ She was a woman; suffering, human, paying the price.
She walked slowly the way that Parpon had gone. Looking neither to right nor left, she climbed the long hillside, and at last reached the summit, where, bundled in a steep corner, was the Rock of Red Pigeons. As she emerged from the pines, she stood for a moment, and leaned with outstretched hand against a tree, looking into the sunlight. Slowly her eyes shifted from the Rock to the great ravine, to whose farther side the sun was giving bastions of gold. ”

“ He caught Parpon's eye, and instantly his hand went to his pocket.
"Ah, he is a comrade, that! Nothing is too good for his friends, for his soldiers. See!" he added.
He took from his pocket ten gold pieces. "'These are bagatelles,' said His Excellency to me; 'but tell my friends, Monsieur Muroc and Monsieur Duclosse and Monsieur Garotte, that they are buttons for the coats of my sergeants, and that my captains' coats have ten times as many buttons. Tell them,' said he, 'that my friends shall share my fortunes; that France needs us; that Pontiac shall be called the nest of heroes. ”

“ A look of bewilderment and joy swam into Parpon's eyes. Then he gave a laugh of singular wildness, his face twitched, tears rushed down his cheeks, and he threw himself at Valmond's feet, and clasped his knees, crying:
"Ah-ah, my prince, great brother, thou hast come also! Ah, thou didst know the way up the long hill Thou hast come to the burial of a fool. But he had a mother—yes, yes, a mother! All fools have mothers, and they should be buried well. ”

“ The speaker was Parpon the dwarf, the oddest, in some ways the most foolish, in others the wisest man in Pontiac.
"That is no excuse," said the Curé.
"It is the only one he has, eh?" answered Parpon. His eyes were fixed meaningly on those of Pomfrette.
"It is no excuse," repeated the Curé sternly. "The blasphemy is horrible, a shame and stigma upon Pontiac for ever." He looked Pomfrette in the face. "Foul-mouthed and wicked man, it is two years since you took the Blessed Sacrament. Last Easter day you were in a drunken sleep while Mass was being said ”

“ Then he said that his first wife was such a cook, that when she died he paid for an extra mass and twelve very fine candles. He called upon Parpon to endorse his words, and Parpon nodded to all he said, but, catching Julie’s eye, went off into gurgles of laughter, which he pretended were tears, by smothering his face in his capote. "Ma’m’selle," said the miller, "I have thought. Some men go to the Avocat or the Curé with great things ”

“ Her fingers ran forgetfully through the hair on her forehead, pushing it back, and the marks of small-pox showed. The contrast with her smooth cheeks gave her a weird look. Parpon got quickly on the table again and sat like a Turk, with a furtive eye on her. “Who can tell!” he said at last. “That musket has not been fired for years. It would not kill a bird; the shot would scatter: but it might kill a man—a man is bigger.”
“Kill a man!” ”

“ Parpon made no reply, but caught up the will, kissed it, put it into Armand’s hand, and then, jumping down from the table, ran to the door and disappeared through it.
IV. The next afternoon the Avocat visited old Farette. Farette was polishing a gun, mumbling the while. Sitting on some bags of meal was Parpon, with a fierce twinkle in his eye. Monsieur Garon told Farette briefly what the Seigneur had left him. With a quick, greedy chuckle Farette threw the gun away.
“Man alive!” said he; “tell me all about it. Ah, the good news!”
“There is nothing to tell: he left it; that is all.” ”

“ The stranger having warmly shaken Parpon by the hand and again whispered in his ear, stepped forward. The last light of the setting sun was reflected from the red roof of the Little Chemist's shop upon the quaint figure and eloquent face, which had in it something of the gentleman, something of the comedian. The alert Medallion himself did not realise the touch of the comedian in him, till the white hand was waved grandiloquently over the heads of the crowd. ”

“ Every man got to his feet, and Muroc let the coffee-tin fall. “There’s to be a grand review in the village this afternoon. There’s breakfast for you, my dears!”
Their exclamations were interrupted by Lajeunesse, who added: “And so my Madelinette is to go to Paris, after all, and Monsieur Parpon is to see that she starts right.”
“Monsieur” Parpon was a new title for the dwarf. But the great comedy, so well played, had justified it. “Oh, His Excellency ‘ll keep his oath,” said the mealman. “I’d take Elise Malboir’s word about a man for a million francs, was he prince or ditcher ”

“ He was trembling with excitement.
“Is it true? is it true?” he asked, and the sweat stood out on his forehead.
“He sends this for Madelinette,” answered the dwarf, handing over a little bag of gold to the girl, who drew back. But Parpon went close to her, and gently forced it into her hands.
“Open it,” he said. She did so, and the blacksmith’s eyes gloated on the gold. Muroc and Duclosse drew near, and peered in also. And so they stood there for a little while, all looking and exclaiming.
Presently Lajeunesse scratched his head. “Nobody does nothing for nothing,” said he. ”