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But Zotique himself was not to escape quite scot-free, for when Chrysler stopped next day at his office, as he was getting accustomed to do, he found him in one of his excitements. "Ah, good day, sir. Come in and take a seat Àa-a-créyé, how they enrage us!" and he cast an impatient glance on the floor at a large envelope deeply marked with his heel. "What is the matter?" Chrysler queried.
As the silent hours were broken by the occasional sobs of Josephte, the young seigneur often gazed anxiously into the face of his faithful friend, wiping the bruised forehead and hoping that he might not die. Chrysler hurried down into the village in the dusk for medicine. By the occasional lights of houses he discerned the people, up and out discussing the exciting topic.
One of our poets claims that there is something of earthliness in the kisses of all but children: "But in a little child's warm kiss Is naught but heaven above, So sweet it is, so pure it is, So full of faith and love." So it seemed to Chrysler as he saw this first of the relations between the young Seigneur and his people.
Chrysler, like a sensible fellow-Member, quite comprehended the situation, and was content to note the admirable way in which his friend did everything; to receive a smile or friendly direction here and there, and to fall back on the attentions of l'Honorable, and the over-zealous Zotique.
"Come along, come along; we don't hear excuses in the country. Come, Chrysler, the road is long." In order not to offend, Chrysler, in spite of his objection to the company, took the unoccupied place behind Grandmoulin. With Libergent, Chrysler did not reap much in conversation. He was conciliatory in his solitary-like way, and had indulged for once in too much liquor.
Chrysler said to Zotique at the Circuit Court House. "The Bonhomme has tracked Spoon through every bush and bay on the coast, and has caught him getting aboard the steamboat at Petite Argentenaye," the Registrar replied. A crowd came down the road. All the crowd were excited.
It seems a garden Of Paradise ... Long years ago I wandered as a youth among its bowers And never from my heart has faded quite Its memory, that like a summer sunset, Encircles with a ring of purple light All the horizon of my youth." As Chrysler regarded him then and heard this free expression of feeling he could not but feel that Haviland was a foreigner, different from the British peoples.
Involuntarily, as Chrysler looked at his face and bearing, he was reminded of the prophets, and the old white church behind seemed to be rising and throwing back its head, and withdrawing its thoughts into some proud region of the great and supernatural. The old man forgot the crowd and the crowd totally forgot Chrysler: "Canadians!"
Chrysler praised the voice, which was excellent, and the boy, attired in a neat, black, knee-breeches suit with white stockings, was proudly brought forward and presented. The grandfather had the twinkle in his eye of a true country violinist. "I was going to tell them a story of the old times, sir. Will you pardon me?" he said, with the twinkle sparkling.
Chrysler could almost believe himself in some ancestral place in Europe, the pinnacles clustered with such a tranquil grace and the walk of pines surrounding the place seemed to frown with such cool, dark shades.
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