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Updated: June 21, 2025
For years he had known in a sort of way that Carterette preferred him to any other man. He knew now that she had remained single because of him. For him her impatience had been patience, her fiery heart had spilled itself in tenderness for his misfortunes. She who had lightly tossed lovers aside, her coquetry appeased, had to himself shown sincerity without coquetry, loyalty without selfishness.
But when the mist cleared away from his eyes, Carterette was bending over him, putting rum to his lips. "Carterette-garcon Carterette!" he murmured, amazed. Then as the truth burst upon him he shook his head in a troubled sort of way. "What a cat I was!" said Carterette. "What a wild cat I was to make you haul me up!
Now he knew, and he answered down: "All right, all right, garche Carterette!" "Are you at the top?" "No, but the rest is easy." "Hurry, hurry, Ranulph. If they should come before you reach the top!" "I'll soon be there." "Are you hurt, Ranulph?" "No, but my fingers are in rags. I am going now. A bi'tot, Carterette!" "Ranulph!" "'Sh, 'sh, do not speak. I am starting."
It dropped almost at Carterette's feet. She tied to the end of it three loose ropes she had brought from the Post. He drew them up quickly, tied them together firmly, and let the great coil down. Ranulph's bundle, a tent and many things Carterette had brought were drawn up. "Ranulph! Ranulph!" came Carterette's voice again. "Garcon Carterette!" "You must help Sebastian Alixandre up," she said.
And so it still went straight on to the sea and, of course, much swifter after such a heavy rain as they had had the day before. Carterette took him into every room in the house save her own and the Chevalier's. In the kitchen and in Detricand's bedroom Olivier Delagarde's eyes were very busy. He saw that the kitchen opened on the garden, which had a gate in the rear wall.
In this latter way did she seem to lay her hand upon the lives of Philip d'Avranche and Guida Landresse. At the time that Elie Mattingley, in Jersey, was awaiting hanging on the Mont es Pendus, and writing his letter to Carterette concerning the stolen book of church records, in a town of Brittany the Reverend Lorenzo Dow lay dying.
When he washed them no one seemed to know, but no languid young gentleman lounging where the sun was warmest in the Vier Marchi was better laundered. As Carterette turned round to him he was twirling a cake on the wooden fork, and trolling: "Caderoussel he has a coat, All lined with paper brown; And only when it freezes hard He wears it in the town. What do you think of Caderoussel?
In the slight pause Carterette made, a hundred confused torturing thoughts swam through her mind and presently floated into the succeeding sentences of the letter: "'As for me, I'm like Rabot's mare, I haven't time to laugh at my own foolishness.
The second had failed because the righteous Royal Court forbade Carterette the prison, intent that she should no longer be contaminated by so vile a wretch as her father. For years this same Christian solicitude had looked down from the windows of the Cohue Royale upon this same criminal in the Vier Marchi, with one blind eye for himself the sinner and an open one for his merchandise.
Some one touched him. He turned and saw Carterette. She had divined his intention, and though she was in the dark as to the motive, she saw that he meant to go to Gaspe. Her heart seemed to contract till the pain of it hurt her; then, as a new thought flashed into her mind, it was freed again and began pounding hard against her breast. She must prevent him from leaving Jersey, from leaving her.
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