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Updated: June 26, 2025
Gaston answered quietly, at last: "I will redeem the promise." "When?" "Within thirty-six hours." "That is, you will be at my studio in Paris within thirty-six hours from now?" "That is it." "Good! I shall start at eight to-morrow morning. You will bring your horse, Cadet?" "Yes, and Brillon." "He isn't necessary." Ian's brow clouded slightly. "Absolutely necessary." "A fantastic little beggar.
You can get a better valet in France. Why have one at all?" "I shall not decline from Brillon on a Parisian valet. Besides, he comes as my camarade." "Goth! Goth! My friend the valet! Cadet, you're a wonderful fellow, but you'll never fit in quite." "I don't wish to fit in; things must fit me." Ian smiled to himself. "He has tasted it all it's not quite satisfying revolution next!
He did not know whether, in his new position, he was expected to suggest. Belward understood, and it pleased him. "If we had lost the track of a buck moose, or were nosing a cache of furs, you'd find a way, Brillon." "Voila," said Jacques; "then, why not wear the buckskin vest, the red-silk sash, and the boots like these?" tapping his own leathers. "You look a grand seigneur so."
"It's a pity I haven't clothes with me, Brillon; they have a show going there." He had dropped again into the new form of master and man. His voice was cadenced, gentlemanly. Jacques pointed to his own saddle-bag. "No, no, they are not the things needed. I want the evening-dress which cost that cool hundred dollars in New York." Still Jacques was silent.
They are out of place in the landscape, Brillon; for it is all luxury and lush, and they are crumples crumples! But yet there isn't any use being sorry for them, for they don't grasp anything outside the life they are living. Can't you guess how they live? Look at the doors of the houses shut, and the windows sealed; yet they've been up these three hours!
Perhaps it was the easy finesse of ceremonial. He looked at Brillon. He had seen him sit arms folded like that, looking from the top of a bluff down on an Indian village or a herd of buffaloes. There was wonder, but no shyness or agitation, on his face; rather the naive, naked look of a child. Belward laughed. "Come, Brillon; we are at home." He rode up to the steps, Jacques following.
Yet it did not disgust him. He knew it was a bit of acting, and it was well done. Besides, Jacques Brillon was not a mere servant, and he, too, had done well. She sat back and laughed lightly when Jacques was gone. Then she said: "The honest fellow!" and hummed an air: "'The pretty coquette Well she needs to be wise, Though she strike to the heart By a glance of her eyes.
But I shall not go, so you will not need to risk a finger for me. I am going to stay, Hovey. Good-night. Look after Brillon, please." He held out his hand. Her fingers twitched in his, then grasped them nervously. "Yes, sir. Good-night, Sir. It's it's like him comin' back, sir." Then she suddenly turned and hurried from the room, a blunt figure to whom emotion was not graceful.
"Falby, look after my man Brillon here, and take me to Sir William." "What name, sir?" Gaston, as if with sudden thought, stepped into the light of the candles, and said in a low voice: "Falby, don't you know me?" The footman turned a little pale, as his eyes, in spite of themselves, clung to Gaston's. A kind of fright came, and then they steadied. "Oh yes, sir," he said mechanically.
"You think that's it, eh?" rejoined Belward, as he tossed a shilling to a beggar. "Maybe, too, your great Saracen to this tot of a broncho, and the grand homme to little Jacques Brillon." Jacques was tired and testy. The other laid his whip softly on the half-breed's shoulder. "See, my peacock: none of that.
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