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Updated: May 4, 2025
I've never kept the mail-stage waiting; I've never left the mailbag unlocked; I've never been late in opening the wicket; I've never been careless, and no one's ever complained of a lost letter." The Seigneur saw her agitation, and was sorry for her. He came to the point as she had done: "We will have you made postmistress you alone, Rosalie Evanturel. I've made up my mind to that.
In all that befell Rosalie Evanturel thereafter, never could come such another great resolute moment. There was nothing to support her in the crisis but her own faith. It needed high courage to tell this man who had first given her dreams, then imagination, hope, and the beauty of doing for another's well-being rather than for her own to tell this man that he was a suspected criminal.
"Monsieur Evanturel." The Seigneur's face became sterner still. "What business had he to know that she received a letter that day?" "He is postmaster," innocently replied the Notary. "He is the devil!" said the Seigneur tartly. "I beg your pardon, Cure; but it is Evanturel's business not to know what letters go to and fro in that office.
A few people were gathering in front of the house she wondered why. "There is some one else that is it, Rosalie. There is some one else. You shall tell me who it is. You shall " He stopped short, for there was a loud knocking at the shop-door, and the voice of M. Evanturel calling: "Rosalie! Rosalie! Rosalie! Ah, come quickly ah, my Rosalie!"
The Seigneur was struck by this and by the strangeness of her look. "Clear the room," he said to Filion Lacasse, who was now a constable of the parish. "Not yet!" said a voice at the doorway. "What is the trouble?" It was the Cure, who had already heard rumours of the scandal, and had come at once to Rosalie. M. Evanturel tried to speak, and could not.
What he had in life he gave to us, and in death he leaves to our church all that he has not left to a woman he loved to Rosalie Evanturel." There was a gasping murmur among the people, but they stilled again, and strained to hear. "He leaves her a little fortune, and to us all else he had. Let us pray for his soul, and let us comfort her who, loving deeply, reaped no harvest of love.
He stopped short, for in the doorway, with a tray, stood Rosalie Evanturel. The surgeon was so intent upon at once fortifying himself that he did not see the look which passed between Rosalie and the tailor. Rosalie had been absent for two months.
As he did so, Rosalie Evanturel cried: "Wait, oh, wait!" Before any one could interfere she moved along the open space to the mad beast, speaking soothingly, and calling his name. The crowd held their breath. A woman fainted. Some wrung their hands, and Jo Portugais, with blanched face, stood with gun half raised.
A few people were gathering in front of the house she wondered why. "There is some one else that is it, Rosalie. There is some one else. You shall tell me who it is. You shall " He stopped short, for there was a loud knocking at the shop-door, and the voice of M. Evanturel calling: "Rosalie! Rosalie! Rosalie! Ah, come quickly ah, my Rosalie!"
The messenger left the Pain Paint on the door-step of the tailor-shop, and the two dollars he promptly spent at the Trois Couronnes. Rosalie Evanturel rescued the bottles from the doorstep and awaited Charley's return to his shop, that she might take them over to him, and so have an excuse to speak with him; for to-day her heart and mind were full of him.
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