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According to the Chapdelaines, never had the country been visited with such a drought as this, and every day a fresh motive was suggested for the divine displeasure. Oats and wheat took on a sickly colour ere attaining their growth; a merciless sun withered the grass and the clover aftermath, and all day long the famished cows stood lowing with their heads over the fences.
"Yet no race is more radical than the French." "True. And we Chapdelaines have always been radical. Grandpère was, though a slaveholder." "Oh, none of my ancestors justified slavery, yet as planters they had to own negroes." "But the Chapdelaines were not planters. They were agents of ships.
That ought to go in the book," said monsieur. "If we could only avoid a disjointed effect." "Dizjoin' my dear sir! They are going to read thad book biccause the dizjointed by curio-zity. You'll see! That Am-erican pewblic they have a passion, an insanitie, for the dizjointed!" The week so blissfully begun in the Chapdelaines' garden and at Spanish Fort was near its end.
They all looked straight before them in speaking, and yet what they said seemed to be for Maria alone, as if the dear secret of her heart were open to them. But she spoke not, nor moved, her eyes fixed upon the frosted panes of the little window, impenetrable as the wall. Eutrope Gagnon did not linger. The Chapdelaines, left to themselves, were long without speech.
Yvonne, "how many time' Corinne and me, we want' to live there and furnizh, ourseff, that romanz'!" The five rose. Mrs. Chester "would be delighted to have the three Chapdelaines call. I'm leaving the hotel, you know; I've taken a room next Geoffry's. But that's nearer you, is it not?" "A li'l', yes," the sisters replied, but Aline's smiling silence said: "No, a little farther off."
"Up there where the trees stand close together one does not feel the wind. You can be sure that Esdras and Da'Be are all right." "Yes?" But it was not of Esdras and Da'Be that she had just been thinking. SINCE the coming of winter they had often talked at the Chapdelaines about the holidays, and now these were drawing near.
For a whole century the quarrel was dead and buried; but the Chapdelaines ever since had named their successive horses Charles Eugene. Once again the hymn rose in clear ringing tones, intense with feeling: Au ciel, au ciel, au ciel, J'irai la voir un jour . . And again sleep was master, the voice died away, and Maria gathered up the reins dropped from her father's hand.
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