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Updated: June 3, 2025
Even in his fear and ghastly anxiety, the subconscious mind of George Masson was saying, "He looks like the Baron of Beaugard like the Baron of Beaugard that killed the man who abused his wife." It was so. Great-great-grand-nephew of the Baron of Beaugard as he was, Jean Jacques looked like the portrait of him which hung in the Manor Cartier.
While gazing at the dismal scene, however, and unheeding the idlers who poked about among the ruins, and watched him as one who was the centre of a drama, he suddenly caught sight of the gold Cock of Beaugard, which had stood on the top of the mill, in the very centre of the ruins.
Even the weather-vane on the Manor the gold Cock of Beaugard, as it was called did not move; and the stamping of a horse in the stable was like the thunderous knock of a traveller from Beyond. The white mill and the grey manor stood out with ghostly vividness in the light of the rising moon.
I have been insurance agent, sold lightning-rods, and been foreman of a gang building a mill but I could not bear that. Every time I looked up I could see the Cock of Beaugard where the roof should be. And so on, so on, first one thing and then another till now till I came to Askatoon and fell down by the drug-store, and you played the good Samaritan.
There's been a dale o' noise there's been a dale o' noise in the wurruld, father," said he. "Oh, so quiet, so quiet now! I do be shlaping." A smile came upon his face. "Oh, the foine of it! I do be shlaping-shlaping." And he fell into a noiseless Sleep. "The Manor House at Beaugard, monsieur? Ah, certainlee, I mind it very well. It was the first in Quebec, and there are many tales.
"At that moment the gunner up on the hill used the match, and an awful thing happened. With the loud roar the whole hillside of rock and gravel and sand split down, not ten feet in front of the gun, moved with horrible swiftness upon the river, filled its bed, turned it from its course, and, sweeping on, swallowed the Manor House of Beaugard.
The Baron went to Quebec to see the Bishop and the Governor, and though promises were made, nothing was done. It must go to the King and then to the Pope, and from the Pope to the King again, and so on. And the months and the years went by as they waited, and with them came no child to the Manor House of Beaugard. That was the only sad thing that and the waiting, so far as man could see.
He might have sold the thing for many louis, and yet he brought it to me; and he would not go till he had seen me sitting on it, muffling my hands and face in the soft fur. Just now, as I am writing, I glance at the table where I sit a small brown table of oak, carved with the name of Felise, Baroness of Beaugard.
"I'll never forget what you've said and done this morning, Virginie Poucette," he declared; "and if I break the back of the trouble that's in my way, and come out cock o' the walk again" the gold Cock of Beaugard in the ruins near and the clarion of the bantam of his barnyard were in his mind and ears "it'll be partly because of you. I hug that thought to me."
There's been a dale o' noise there's been a dale o' noise in the wurruld, father," said he. "Oh, so quiet, so quiet now! I do be shlaping." A smile came upon his face. "Oh, the foine of it! I do be shlaping- shlaping." And he fell into a noiseless Sleep. "The Manor House at Beaugard, monsieur? Ah, certainlee, I mind it very well. It was the first in Quebec, and there are many tales.
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