But he took it mighty ill that old Monsieur Mutuel in his
patch of sunlight, upon whom he came as he turned, should pull off his
cap to him with a look of pleased approval. And he muttered, in his own
tongue, as he returned the salutation, "Well, walnut-shell! And what
business is it of _yours_?"
Mr. The Englishman went on for many weeks passing but disturbed evenings
and worse nights, and constantly experiencing that those aforesaid
windows in the houses of Memory and Mercy rattled after dark, and that he
had very imperfectly nailed them up. Likewise, he went on for many weeks
daily improving the acquaintance of the Corporal and Bebelle. That is to
say, he took Bebelle by the chin, and the Corporal by the hand, and
offered Bebelle sous and the Corporal cigars, and even got the length of
changing pipes with the Corporal and kissing Bebelle. But he did it all
in a shamefaced way, and always took it extremely ill that Monsieur
Mutuel in his patch of sunlight should note what he did. Whenever that
seemed to be the case, he always growled in his own tongue, "There you
are again, walnut-shell! What business is it of yours?"
In a word, it had become the occupation of Mr. The Englishman's life to
look after the Corporal and little Bebelle, and to resent old Monsieur
Mutuel's looking after _him_. An occupation only varied by a fire in the
town one windy night, and much passing of water-buckets from hand to hand
(in which the Englishman rendered good service), and much beating of
drums,--when all of a sudden the Corporal disappeared.
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