THE FALSE ZOUAVE

HE big blacksmith, Lory of
Sainte Marie aux Mines,
was not easy that evening.
Usually, as soon as the forge was

cold and the sun set, he would seat

himself on a bench outside his door
to enjoy that delightful lassitude which
follows after hard work on a hot day ;
and before dismissing his men he
would drink with them one or two
draughts of fresh beer, while watching
the hands turn out of the factory.

But this evening, the good man stayed

in the forge up to the moment of

sitting down to table; and even then
came as though unwilling.