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"Jules Rondeau can do ze job," the woods-boss replied easily. "Ze law, she have not restrain' me. I guess mebbeso you don' take dose theengs away, eh, M'sieur Cardigan. Myself, I lak see." The deputy marshal handed Rondeau a paper, at the same time showing his badge. "You're out, too, my friend," he laughed. "Don't be foolish and try to buck the law.
At twelve-ten the train slid in on the log landing of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's main camp, and Bryce dropped off and approached the engineer of the little donkey-engine used for loading the logs. "Where's Rondeau?" he asked. The engineer pointed to a huge, swarthy man approaching across the clearing in which the camp was situated. "That's him," he replied.
"Now I work for M'sieur Cardigan; so, M'sieur, I will have zee switchengine weeth two flat-cars and zee wrecking-car. Doze dam trash on zee crossing M'sieur Cardigan does not like, and by gar, I take heem away. You onderstand, M'sieur? I am Jules Rondeau, and I work for M'sieur Cardigan. La la, M'sieur!" The great hand closed over Sexton's collar. "Not zee pistol no, not for Jules Rondeau."
"I will tell you," pursued Lady Delacour, "if not what you are going to say to me, at least what you say to yourself, which is fully as much to the purpose. You say to yourself, 'Let this packet of Clarence Hervey contain what it may, it comes too late. In short, things have gone so far that I cannot recede; because things have gone so far. This is the rondeau of your argument.
I have here zee wrecking-car all you need; pretty soon we lift him off zee crossing, I tell you, eh, M'sieur Cardigan?" Bryce stepped over to the switch-engine and looked up at his late enemy. "By whose orders is this train here?" he queried. "Mine," Rondeau answered. "M'sieur Sexton I have tie like one leetle pig and lock her in her office. I work now for M'sieur." And he did.
"Oh, no," said Leffie; "keep it so marster can have it, if he ever hears of it. There’s your cigar box, take it and bury the letter in it." "Whew-ew," said Rondeau, with a prolonged whistle, "it takes you women to calculate anything cute!" The cigar box was brought out, and in a few moments the poor letter was lying quietly under a foot and a half of earth.
"Peter Dobree," he said presently, "go or send for your sister Rondeau. Antoine, dear lad, go you into the kitchen and see if any one has come in; for we will have supper through all, and Sara, Sara, my child, my little one, you must never leave me more." "What! and are you, monsieur, truly my grandfather, and Monsieur Antoine truly your grandson? Then he is no, not my brother; what then?
That when Sara Dufarge once Sara Dormeur my loved and lovely mistress, joined her husband not by the guillotine, but by a broken heart in a little country lodging at Nogent she left her child that child to the nurse who had been faithful to her to my own good sister Nancy, who, bringing her to England when she and her husband came to escape the troubles, found here another sister, the widow Rondeau childless to whom came as a legacy that same little orphaned one who lies now in her grandsire's chair."
Mrs. Rondeau was sitting in her lower room, sewing by the light of a weaver's oil-lamp which hung from a string fastened to the mantel-piece. The place was very bare. Few of the little ornaments that usually decorate even a poor home remained, and the good woman's eyes were red with recent crying. The loom in the upper part of the house was empty, and so was the cupboard, or very nearly so.
"Ah, it seems simple enough now," and they went on together to the end. "I've not lost much of my playing, have I?" "A little stiffness, perhaps, and you've lost your sense of the old forms. Now let's play this rondeau of Marais." When they had finished, it was dinner-time, and after dinner they had more music. Before going upstairs, Evelyn asked Agnes if there was any ink in her room.
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