There was a steep hill, and the
guns were left at the bottom. Then I began to be afraid. There
were some marching with candelabras on their backs and nothing in
their carnassieres. They carried a million francs on their
shoulders and death in their faces. I was afraid. I carried salt--
salt--and nothing else. Then one day I saw the Emperor's face.
That was enough. The same night I crept away while the others slept
round the fire. They looked like a masquerade. Some of them wore
ermine. Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and some
horse. There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I
found it in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full
of such things. But one thinks of one's life. I only carried salt,
and that picture for you . . . to say your prayers to. The good
God will hear you, perhaps; He has no time to listen to us others."
And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival
of serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution.
"But I cannot take it," said Desiree. "It is worth a million
francs."
He looked at her fiercely.
"You think that I look for something in return?"
"Oh no!" she answered, "I have nothing to give you in return. I am
as poor as you."
"Then we can be friends," he said. He was eyeing surreptitiously a
mug of beer which Desiree had set before him on the table. Some
instinct, or the teaching of the last two months, made it repugnant
to him to eat or drink beneath his neighbour's eye.
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