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Medallion began with the parish, passed to the law, from the law to Napoleon, from Napoleon to France, and from France to the world, drawing out from the Avocat something of his old vivacity and fire. At last Medallion, seeing that the time was ripe, turned his glass round musingly in his fingers before him and said: "Benoit, Annette's husband, died to-day, Garon. You knew him.
Presently the Cure asked, as if from a great distance, so meditative was his voice: "Who will be the woman, Medallion?" "I've got one in my eye the very right one for our Avocat; not here, not out of Pontiac, but from St. Jean in the hills fulfilling your verses, gentle apothecary.
You bring sunshine and relish to our lives, dear madame." The Cure beamed. This was after his own heart and he had ever said that his dear avocat would have been a brilliant orator, were it not for his retiring spirit. For himself, he was no speaker at all; he could only do his duty and love his people. So he had declared over and over again, and the look in his eyes said the same now.
"Are you sure it's an angel?" said Armand. "Who ever knew Parpon do any harm?" queried the Cure. "He has always been kind to the poor," put in the Avocat. "With the miller's flour," laughed Medallion: "a pardonable sin." He sent a quizzical look at the Cure. "Do you remember the words of Parpon's song?" asked Armand. "Only a few lines; and those not easy to understand, unless one had an inkling."
"You did not send for me, monsieur," said the Avocat timidly, "but I thought it well to come, that you might know how things are; and Monsieur Medallion came because he is a witness to the will, and, in a case" here the little man coughed nervously "joint executor with Monsieur le Cure." They entered the house.
All of him worth the having was any worth the having? responded to that diffusing charm which brought so many men to the feet of that lady of the Manor, who had lovers by the score: from such as the Cure and the avocat, gentle and noble, and requited, to the young Seigneur, selfish and ulterior, and unrequited. He got to his feet quietly.
The avocat trembled to his feet to meet Valmond, who stood up as he spoke, his face shining with enthusiasm, a hand raised in broad dramatic gesture, a dignity come upon him, in contrast to the figure which had disported itself through the village during the past week. The avocat had found a man after his own heart. He knew that Valmond understood whereof he spoke.
Certainly the place had the air of home; it spoke for the absent termagant. M. Garon looked round and saw a half-opened door, through which presently came a voice speaking in a laboured whisper. The Avocat knocked gently at the door. "May I come in, Sergeant?" he asked, and entered. There was no light in the room, but the fire in the kitchen stove threw a glow over the bed where the sick man lay.
The Avocat was completely taken aback. He blew nervously through his pale fingers, raised himself up and down on his toes, and grew pale through suppressed excitement. He examined the certificate carefully, though from the first he had no doubt of its accuracy and correctness. "Well?" said the woman, with a hard look in her face and a hard note in her voice. "Well?"
Presently he pushed the little well-worn book over to Medallion. "I have known you fifteen years read!" he said. He gave Medallion a meaning look out of his now flashing eyes. Medallion's bony face responded cordially. "Of course," he answered, picked up the book, and read what the Avocat had written. It was on the last page. When he had finished reading, he held the book musingly.
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