Then he pushed the child out by the shoulders.  He returned to his work and with a single blow the five hammers again fell upon their anvils.  Thus they wrought the iron until nightfall, strong, powerful, happy, like hammers satisfied.  But just as the great bell of a cathedral resounds upon feast days above the jingling of the other bells, so Phillip’s hammer, dominating the noise of the others, clanged second after second with a deafening uproar.  And he, his eye on fire, plied his trade vigorously, erect amid the sparks.

The sky was full of stars as he knocked at La Blanchotte’s door.  He had his Sunday blouse on, a fresh shirt, and his beard was trimmed.  The young woman showed herself upon the threshold and said in a grieved tone: 

“It is ill to come thus when night has fallen, Mr. Phillip.”

He wished to answer, but stammered and stood confused before her.

She resumed: 

“And still you understand quite well that it will not do that I should be talked about any more.”

Then he said all at once: 

“What does that matter to me, if you will be my wife!”

No voice replied to him, but he believed that he heard in the shadow of the room the sound of a body which sank down.  He entered very quickly; and Simon, who had gone to his bed, distinguished the sound of a kiss and some words that his mother said very softly.  Then he suddenly found himself lifted up by the hands of his friend, who, holding him at the length of his herculean arms, exclaimed to him: 

“You will tell them, your school-fellows, that your papa is Phillip Remy, the blacksmith, and that he will pull the ears of all who do you any harm.”

On the morrow, when the school was full and lessons were about to begin, little Simon stood up quite pale with trembling lips: 

“My papa,” said he in a clear voice, “is Phillip Remy, the blacksmith, and he has promised to box the ears of all who do me any harm.”

This time no one laughed any longer, for he was very well known, was Phillip Remy, the blacksmith, and was a papa of whom anyone in the world would have been proud.

PAUL’S MISTRESS

The Restaurant Grillon, a small commonwealth of boatmen, was slowly emptying.  In front of the door all was a tumult of cries and calls, while the jolly dogs in white flannels gesticulated with oars on their shoulders.

The ladies in bright spring toilets stepped aboard the skiffs with care, and seating themselves astern, arranged their dresses, while the landlord of the establishment, a mighty individual with a red beard, of renowned strength, offered his hand to the pretty dears, with great self-possession, keeping the frail craft steady.

The rowers, bare-armed, with bulging chests, took their places in their turn, posing for their gallery, as they did so, a gallery consisting of middle class people dressed in their Sunday clothes, of workmen and soldiers leaning upon their elbows on the parapet of the bridge, all taking a great interest in the sight.