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Updated: May 5, 2025
He drew attention to Barouche's leonine head and beard, to his alert eyes and quizzical face, and said he was as strong in the field of legislation as he was in body and mind. Carnac noticed that Barouche listened good- naturedly, and now and then cocked his head and looked up at the ceiling as though to find something there.
Yet common sense told him that in standing against Barouche, he became important in the eyes of those affected by Barouche's policy. He had had luck, and it was for him to justify that luck. Could he do it? His first thought, however, as his eyes fell on the headlines he flushed with elation so that he scarcely saw was for the thing itself.
You inherit Barode Barouche's gifts, and you have his seat, you represent his people and they are your people too. You have French blood in your veins, and you have a chance to carry on with honour what he did with skill. Forgive me, if you can. Your loving P.S. Do nothing till you see me. Returning from Barode Barouche's home to his mother's House on the Hill, Carnac was in a cheerless mood.
Grier, she was reading in the papers of Carnac's victory, and in her mind was an agonizing triumph, pride in a stern blow struck for punishment. The event was like none she could have imagined. It was at this moment the note came from Carnac telling of Barouche's death, and it dropped from her hand to the floor.
"She'll like that but yes, she'll like that: and if he succeeds she'll think he's great. Well, she'd be right. He'll beat Barouche. He's young and brave, careless and daring. Now where am I in this fight? I belong to Barouche's party and my vote ought to go for him." For some minutes he sat in profound thought. What part should he play?
It's about the election-about Mr. Grier." Barode Barouche's heart stopped. Something about Carnac Grier something about the election and a woman! He kept a hand on himself. It must not be seen that he was in any way moved. "Is she English?" "She's French, m'sieu'." "You think I ought to see her, Gaspard?" said Barouche. "Sure," was the confident reply.
If I give you the sure means to win your election, it would be worth while eh?" The beating of Barouche's heart was hard, but nothing showed in his face. There he had control. "I like people who know their own minds," he said, "but I don't believe anything till I study what I hear. Is it something to injure Mr. Grier?"
He squeezed, till from Barouche's lips came a gasp of agony, and then he let go. "You've had my love-clasp, m'sieu'," Denzil said with meaning, "and when you want it again let me know. It's what M'sieu' Carnac will do with you to-morrow night. Only he'll not let go, as I did, before the blood comes.
They were mostly Barouche's men, but they were emotional, and melodrama had stirred their feelings. Besides, like the Irish, they had a love of feminine nature, and in all the river-coves Junia was known by sight at least, and was admired. She had the freshness of face and mind which is the heart of success with the habitants.
For her a long twenty-seven years rolled back to the day when she was a young neglected wife, full of life's vitalities, out on a junction of the river and the wild woods, with Barode Barouche's fishing-camp near by. She shivered now as she thought of it. It was all so strange, and heart-breaking. For long years she had paid the price of her mistake.
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