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Clethera glanced behind her at the house she called home, and threw herself in Honoré's arms, as she had often done in childish despairs. Neither misunderstood the action, and it relieved them to shed a few tears on each other's necks. This truly Latin outburst being over, they stood apart and wiped their eyes on their sleeves.
"It no use," exclaimed Clethera, "to set a good examp' to your grandmother!" "I not wait any longer now," announced Honoré, giving rein to fierce eagerness. "I go to de war to-day." "But de camp is move'," objected Clethera. "I have pass' de examin', and I know de man to go to when I am ready; he promis' to get me into de war. Jules have de sails up now, ready to take me across to de train."
Jules, indeed, became so bold that he crowded across the stile through the very conferences of the pair united to prevent him; and his loud voice could be heard beside Melinda's ironing-board, proclaiming in the manner of a callow young suitor. "Some peop' like separate us, Melinda, but we not let them." The conflict of Honoré and Clethera with Jules and Melinda ended one day in August.
It may be said of any French half-breed that he has all the instincts of gentility except an inclination to lying, and that arises from excessive politeness. Honoré came to the fence at noon and called Clethera. In his excitement he crossed the stile and stood on her premises. "It no use, Clethera. Jules have tell me this morning he have arrange' de marriage."
The fort, dismantled of its garrison, reared a whitewashed crown against the island's back of evergreens. Both Honoré and Clethera knew there was a Spanish war. As summer day followed summer day, the village seethed with it, as other spots then seethed. A military post, even when dismantled, always brings home to the community where it is situated the dignity and pomp of arms.
But instead of curing him, this experience only whetted his zest for another wife. "And there is Thérèse." Honoré did not say, "Last, Thérèse." While Jules lived and his wives died, or were traded off or divorced, there would be no last. "It is four," declared Clethera; and the count was true. Honoré had taken Jules in hand like a father, after the adventure with Lavelotte's widow.
"Maman," he began the enumeration, reverently. His companion allowed him a minute's silence after the mention of that fine woman. "One," she tallied. "Nex'," proceeded Honoré, "poor Jules is involve' with de Chippewa woman." "Two," clinched Clethera. The Chippewa squaw was a sore theme.
When Honoré had been gone twenty-four hours, and Jules was still idling like a boy undriven by his task-master, leaving the boat to rock under bare poles at anchor on the rise and fall of the water, Clethera went into their empty house. It contained three rooms, and she laid violent hands on male housekeeping. The service was almost religious, like preparing linen for an altar.
"Then there is Lavelotte's widow," continued Honoré. "Three," marked Clethera. Yes, there was Lavelotte's widow, the worst of all. She whipped little Jules unmercifully, and if Honoré had not taken his part and stood before him, she might have ended by being Jules's widow. She stripped him of his whole fortune, four hundred dollars, when he finally obtained a separation from her.
"But who will have de boat when you are gone, Honoré?" "Jules. And he bring Melinda to de house." "She not come. She not leave her own house. She take her 'usban' in." "Then Jules must rent de house. You not detest poor Jules?" "I not detest him like de hudder one." "Au 'voir, Clethera." "Au 'voir, Honoré."
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