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He moved about among the guests with less abstraction and more cheerfulness than he had shown for months. He carried in his hand the address which Madelinette had handed him. Again and again he showed it to eager guests. Suddenly, as he was about to fold it up for the last time and carry it to the library, he saw the name of George Fournel among the signatures.
By right of it only could he look the world in the face or me." She stopped suddenly, for her voice choked her. "Will you please continue?" said Fournel, opening and shutting the will in his hand, and looking at her with a curious new consideration. "Fame came to me as his trouble came to him.
"You are bound to give me these things I ask for, as a matter of justice if you know what justice means," he said at last. "You should be aware of that," answered the Seigneur, with a kindling look. He felt every glance of Fournel's eye a contemptuous comment upon his deformity, now so egregious and humiliating. "I taught you justice once." Fournel was not to be moved from his phlegm.
Stunned, dumfounded, he left the room. George Fournel, whom he had tried to kill, had signed this address of congratulation to his wife! Was it Fournel's intention thus to show that he had forgiven and forgotten? It was not like the man to either forgive or forget. What did it mean?
"You found it, and Tardif stole it and took it to Quebec." "Yes, Louis, but Louis ah, what is the matter, dear! I cannot bear that look in your face. What is the matter, Louis?" "Tardif took it to Fournel, and you followed. And I have been living in another man's house, on another's bread " "O Louis, no no no! Our money has paid for all." "Your money, Madelinette!" His voice rose.
Then, as Fournel, blinded, staggered back upon the book-shelves, he snatched two antique swords from the wall. Throwing one on the floor in front of the Englishman, he ran to the door and locked it, and turned round, the sword grasped firmly in his hand, and white with rage. "Spider! Spider! By Heaven, you shall have the spider dance before you!" he said hoarsely.
He moved about among the guests with less abstraction and more cheerfulness than he had shown for months. He carried in his hand the address which Madelinette had handed him. Again and again he showed it to eager guests. Suddenly, as he was about to fold it up for the last time and carry it to the library, he saw the name of George Fournel among the signatures.
When a spider makes love to his lady he dances before her to infatuate her, and then in a moment of her delighted aberration snatches at her affections. Is it the way of the spider then?" With a snarl as of a wild beast, Louis Racine sprang forward and struck Fournel in the face with his clinched fist.
Temptations to conspiracy had been few since the day George Fournel, wounded and morose, left the Manor House secretly one night, and carried back to Quebec his resentment and his injuries. Treasonable gossip filtered no longer from doorway to doorway; carbines were not to be had for a song; no more nightly drills and weekly meetings gave a spice of great expectations to their life.
It reached the ears of the Seigneur, and a look of pain shot across his face. Fournel was only dimly aware of the voice, for he was hard pressed, and it seemed to come from infinite distances. Presently the voice stopped, and some one tried the door of the room. It was Madelinette. Astonished at finding it locked, she stood still a moment uncertain what to do.
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