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Updated: May 9, 2025
So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the chintz-covered lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was buried. There was a smell of roses in the room. She had gathered many of them that afternoon. She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and fastened it in the bosom of her dress.
He sat down in a tumult of cheering. Many present remarked that no two men they had ever heard spoke so much alike, and kept their attacks so free from personal things. There had been at this public meeting two intense supporters of Carnac, who waited for him at the exit from the main doorway. They were Fabian's wife and Junia. Barode Barouche came out of the hall before Carnac.
The truth was, Roudin dared not tell what he knew. It was based wholly on a talk he had partly overheard between Barode Barouche and Luzanne in the house where she stayed and where he, Roudin, lodged. It had not been definite, and he had no proofs. He was a sensationalist, and he had had his hour and could say no more, because of Barode Barouche.
He had for him a sympathy which, to himself, seemed a matter of temperament. "Mother," he said, "wouldn't you like to go and hear Barode Barouche at St. Annabel? You know him I mean personally?" "Yes, I knew him long ago," was the scarcely vocal reply. "He's a great, fine man, isn't he? Wrong-headed, wrong-purposed, but a big fine fellow."
"Has he ever lived with you for a single day?" "What difference would that make? I have the marriage certificate here." She touched her bosom. "I'd have thought you were Barode Barouche's wife by the way you act. Isn't it a wife's duty to help her husband Shouldn't you be fighting against Barode Barouche?" "I mean to be recognized as Carnac Grier's wife that's why I'm here."
The agent of M'sieu' Barouche is a man of mark about here, and he'll be more marked soon but yes!" "You think Monsieur Barouche will be elected, do you?" asked Junia, as they closed the door. "I know he will." "I've been working for Monsieur Grier, and that isn't my opinion." "I'm working for Barode Barouche, and I know the result."
One little girl was pushed in front of him, and she reached out a hand in which was a wild rose. "That's for luck, m'sieu'," she said. Carnac took the rose, and placed it in his buttonhole; then, stooping down, he kissed the child's cheek. Outside the hall, Barode Barouche winked an eye knowingly. "He's got it all down to a science. Look at him kissing the young chick.
Your family is much wider, because you're a genius. It's worldwide of all kinds. Denzil belongs to you, because you helped to save him years ago; the Catholic Archbishop belongs to you, because he's got brains and a love of literature and art; Barode Barouche belongs to you, because he's almost a genius too." "Barouche is a politician," said Carnac with slight derision.
There was one feature more common in Canada than in any other country; opposing candidates met on the same platform and fought their fight out in the hearing of those whom they were wooing. One day Carnac read in a newspaper that Barode Barouche was to speak at St. Annabel. As that was not far from Charlemont he determined to hear Barouche for the first time.
Carnac had not been present at the counting of the votes until the last quarter-hour, and then he was told by his friends of the fluctuations of the counting how at one time his defeat seemed assured, since Barode Barouche was six hundred ahead, and his own friends had almost given up hope. One of his foes, however, had no assurance of Carnac's defeat.
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