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All day and every day Madelinette's mind kept fastening itself upon one theme, kept turning to one spot. In her dreams she saw the hanging lamp, the moving panel, the little cupboard, the fatal paper. Waking and restlessly busy, she sometimes forgot it for a moment, but remembrance would come back with painful force, and her will must govern her hurt spirit into quiet resolution.
He saw no reason to quarrel with his face. Was it possible that the deformity did not matter after all? He felt Madelinette's hand on his arm. He turned and clasped her to his breast. He did not notice that she kept her hands under her chin as he drew her to him, that she did not, as had been her wont, put them on his shoulders.
She did not speak, but her heart sank within her. The man was Tardif. He saw them and shuffled over. "Ha, Madame," he said, "he has the will, and I've not done with you yet you'll see." Then, shaking a fist in Madelinette's face, he clattered off into the darkness. They crossed the street, and Madame Marie knocked at Fournel's door. It was at once opened, and Madelinette announced herself.
He came forward and held out his hand to Madelinette. "Madame, I shall remember your kindness, and I appreciate the simple honours done me here. Your arrival at the moment of my visit is a happy circumstance." There was a meaning in his eye not in his voice which went straight to Madelinette's understanding.
Every hour since his trouble had come upon him, since Madelinette's great fame had come to her, he had protested to himself that it was honour for honour; and every day he had laboured, sometimes how fantastically, how futilely! to dignify his position, to enhance his importance in her eyes. She had understood it all, had read him to the last letter in the alphabet of his mind and heart.
They were full of veneration for past traditions, but were not at variance with a proper loyalty to the flag under which they lived, and if the English soldiery met the speech with genial appreciation the day might end in a blessing and surely blessings were overdue in Madelinette's life in Pontiac.
The General gave him a guard of honour of the French Militia in keeping with his position as Seigneur; and this, with Madelinette's presence at his elbow, restrained him in his speech when he would have broken from the limits of propriety in the intoxication of his eager eloquence.
Madelinette's reverie was broken now. She was face to face with discovery and mystery. Her heart stood still with fear. After an instant of suspense, she took out the packet and held it to the light. She gave a smothered cry. It was the will of the late Seigneur. George Fournel was the heir to the Seigneury of Pontiac, not Louis Racine.
An honour from the young English Queen that would mate with Madelinette's fame. After all, it was only his due. He suddenly found it hard to be consistent. His mind was in a whirl.
"What the devil do I know about aristocrats!" said Lajeunesse. "You're among the best of the land, now that Madelinette's married to the Seigneur. You ought to wear a collar every day." "Bah!" answered the blacksmith. "I'm only old Lajeunesse the blacksmith, though she's my girl, dear lads.
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