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I've done Felix Marchand there. I guess that the Chief Constable of Manitou and Monseigneur Lourde and old Mother Thibadeau are about the only people that Marchand can't bribe. I see I've got to face a scrimmage before I can get what I want." "What you want you'll have, I bet," was the admiring response. "I'm going to have a good try. I want these two towns to be one.
"No, I'll tackle them myself, but you get in touch with Monseigneur Lourde. He's grasped the situation, and though he'd like to have Tripple boiled in oil, he doesn't want broken heads and bloodshed." "And Tripple?" "I'll deal with him at once. I've got a hold on him. I never wanted to use it, but I will now without compunction. I have the means in my pocket.
His face was shining white, and in the eyes was an almost unearthly fire. It was the beloved Monseigneur Lourde. Raising the elements before him toward his own people on the bridge, he cried in a high, searching voice: "I prayed with you, I begged you to preserve the peace. Last night I asked you in God's name to give up your disorderly purposes.
It's all arranged to make trouble and break the law. It's the first real organized set-to we've had between the towns, and it'll be nasty. If the preelate doesn't dope them, there'll be pertikler hell to pay." He then gave the story of his visit to Monseigneur Lourde, and the details of what was going forward in Manitou so far as he had learned.
The sexton had lighted the furnace for the first time to test it for the Winter's working, but had not stayed to see the result. There was a defect in the furnace, the place had caught fire, and some of the wooden flooring had been burnt before the aged Monseigneur Lourde discovered it. It was he who had given the alarm and had rescued the silver altar-vessels from the sacristy.
His face was shining white, and in the eyes was an almost unearthly fire. It was the beloved Monseigneur Lourde. Raising the elements before him toward his own people on the bridge, he cried in a high, searching voice: "I prayed with you, I begged you to preserve the peace. Last night I asked you in God's name to give up your disorderly purposes.
Then it was that the silent, smiling, dark-skinned, cool-headed and cool-handed Rockwell stepped in, and won for himself the gratitude of all from Monseigneur Lourde, the beloved Catholic priest, to Tekewani, the chief. This accident was followed by an epidemic.
When Ingolby walked past Barbazon's Tavern arm in arm with Monseigneur Lourde, to the tiny house where the good priest lived, the old man's face beaming with gratitude, and with a piety which was his very life, the jubilant crowd followed them to the very door.
Only old Mother Thibadeau, who had a heart that sees, caught a look in Fleda's eyes, a warm deepening of colour, a sudden embarrassment, which she knew how to interpret. "See now, monseigneur," she said to Monseigneur Lourde, nodding towards Fleda and Ingolby, "there would be work here soon for you or Father Bidette if they were not two heretics."
As for your religion, God knows, I wish I was as good a Protestant as lots of you are good Catholics. And I tell you this, I'd be glad to have a minister that I could follow and respect and love as I respect and love Monseigneur Lourde of Manitou.
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