Honore and the Rue St. Denis, waiting for the
return of her husband, who had been called upon to exercise his skill
on the person of some of the warriors with whom Paris was now crowded.
The shutters of the little shop were up, as were those of all the houses
in the street, and the place was therefore dark and triste; and the
stout, good-looking woman within was melancholy and somewhat querulous.
A daughter, of about twenty years of age, the exact likeness of her
mother, only twenty years less stout, and twenty years more pretty, sat
with her in the shop, and patiently listened to her complaints.
"Well, Annot," she said, "I wonder at your father. He had a little
spirit once, but it has all left him now. Had he been said by me, he
wouldn't have raised a bit of steel over an English chin for the best
day's hire that ever a man was paid--unless, indeed, it was to cut the
fellow's throat!"
"If he didn't, mother, another would; and what's the good of throwing
away their money?"
"No matter--it's a coward's work to go and shave one's country's
enemies.
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