Mr. Fox draws his chair nearer, facing Sorel, who looks uneasy: Sorel's feelings, to the thousandth degree of subdivision, are always declaring themselves in swift succession upon his face.
“The great officer of the custom-house, the collector--”
--yes, the _chef_ (Mr. Fox seizes upon the word and clings to it),--the _chef_ has been speaking anxiously to Mr. Fox about this vacancy: Mr. Fox is in the _chefs_ confidence.
“Ah!” from Sorel, in a tone of utter bewilderment.
“We must have,” the _chef_ had said to Mr. Fox,--“we must have for this place a noble man, a man with a large heart” (the exact required dimensions Mr. Fox does not give); “a man who loves his government, a man who has showed himself ready to die for her; we must have”--here Mr. Fox bends forward and lays his hand upon Sorel's knee, and looks him in the eye,--“we must have--_a soldier!_”
“Ah!” says Sorel, moving his chair back a little, unconsciously, “_il faut un soldat!_ I un-'stan',--_le chef_ 'e boun' to 'ave one sol'ier!”
Still no comprehension of the stranger's object. Curiosity, however, prompts Sorel at this point to an inquiry: “'Ow much 'e goin' pay 'im?”
Mr. Fox suggests that he guess. M. Sorel guesses, boldly, and high,--almost insolently high,--eight dollars a week: she is so generous, _la République!_
“Higher!” Sorel's eyes open. He guesses again, and recklessly: “_Dix dollars par semaine_; you know--ten dol-lar ever-y week.”
Try again,--again,--again! He guesses,--madly now, as one risks his gold at Baden: twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen.
Yes, eighteen dollars a week, and more--a thousand dollars every year.
Sorel wipes his brow. A thousand dollars in one year! It is like a temptation of the devil.
Sorel ventures another inquiry. The _chef_ of the customhouse, esteeming the old sol'iers so highly, is an old sol'ier himself,--is it not so? He has fought for his country? Doubtless he has lost an arm. And Sorel instinctively lets his right arm hang limp, as if the sleeve were empty.
No; the _chef_ was an editor and a statesman in the time of the war. He had greatly desired to go to fight, but his duties did not permit it. Still, he loves the old soldier.
Another advance in the conversation, this time by Mr. Fox.