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But all at once a wagon backed and bumped against the curb in front of him, and Eliphalet's head dropped as if it had been struck by the wheel. Above him a sash screamed as it opened, and he heard Mr. Renault's voice say, to some person below: "Is that you, Capitaine Grant?" "The same," was the brief reply. "I am charmed that you have brought the wood. I thought that you had forgotten me."
It was an exhilarating place to live in, Renault's hospital, an atmosphere of intense activity, mental and physical, with a spirit of some large, unexpressed truth, a passionate faith, that raised the immediate finite and petty task to a step in the glorious ranks of eternity. The personality of Renault alone kept this atmosphere from becoming hectic and sentimental.
She pressed his arm, and her mouth was firm. "I am going, Philip," she said softly. "Will you go with me?" "I will, if you must go," he said. "But it is not best." "It is best for little Marie," she retorted, and left him to tell Adare and her mother of Renault's message. Renault stepped close to Philip. His back was to the others.
Tradition says that among Charlemagne's retinue was Aymon himself, and intimates that it was by the father's treachery that the four mighty sons were almost captured, but at any rate the great castle of Montfort was reduced to ashes and ruin, and only the fact of Renault's taking the other brothers on the back of the wondrous horse Bayard saved them all from the Emperor's fury.
Towards morning Isabelle woke, and in the sudden clarity of the silent hour thoughts flowed through her with wonderful vividness. She saw Renault's face and manner, his sharp eyes, his air of dictation, arrogant and at the same time kindly, yes, there was a power in the man! As Margaret had put it, a religious power. The word set loose numberless thoughts, distasteful ones, dead ones.
Renault's residence, a wide area was sunk to the depth of a tall man, which was apparently used for the purpose of getting coal and wood into the cellar. Mr. Hopper swept the neighborhood with a glance. The coast was clear, and he dropped into the area. Although the evening was chill, at first Mr. Hopper perspired very freely.
Louis, her admiration for Cornelia Woodyard, her seeking for "interesting" people and a cultivated and charming background for herself, and last of all her dissatisfaction in her marriage because it failed to evoke in her the passion she desired. It was a petty story, she felt, ashamed before Renault's irony. He knew her life, more than she had told him, much more. He knew her.
Hopper walked around the block, arriving again opposite the Carvel house, and beside Mr. Renault's, which was across from it. Eliphalet had inherited the principle of mathematical chances. It is a fact that the discreet sometimes take chances. Towards the back of Mr.
Grosvenor had given its benediction, the hills and the woods, the snowy expanses and frozen brooks, the sunsets and starlit firmament, the blacksmith's simple content and Renault's beacon lights, Margaret's peace, all had done their work in her. As the lumbering sleigh dragged over the Pass, she gazed back to fix its image in her mind forever.
As she took his arm outside, he asked dully: "Which way now?" "This is our way first," and Margaret turned up the road away from the village, past the doctor's house. They walked in silence. When she pointed out Renault's hospital, Falkner looked at it indifferently. "Queer sort of place for a hospital. What kind of a man is he?" "A queer sort of man," Margaret replied.
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