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Updated: June 15, 2025
With the Cure, Ferrol was not quite so successful. The ascetic, prudent priest, with that instinctive, long-sighted accuracy which belongs to the narrow-minded, scented difficulty. He disliked the English exceedingly; and all Irishmen were English men to him. He resisted Ferrol's blarney.
"You little scrap of hell," he said in a rage, "if you ever come within fifty feet of me again I'll send you where you came from!" Though Shangois's eyes bulged from his head, he answered: "I was only ten feet away from you last night under the elm!" Suddenly Ferrol's hand slipped down to Shangois's throat. Ferrol's fingers tightened, pressed inwards. "Now, see, I know what you mean.
Yet there often came jugs and jars from friendly people, who never spoke to him of his disease they were polite and sensitive, these humble folk but sent him their home-made medicines, with assurances scrawled on paper that "it would cure Mr. Ferrol's cold, oh, absolutely." Before the Lavilettes he smiled, and received the gifts in a debonair way, sometimes making whimsical remarks.
He was entirely too good-natured to take exception to Ferrol's easy-going admiration of Sophie. Ferrol spoke excellent French, and soon found points of pleasant contact with Monsieur Lavilette, who, despite the fact that he had coarsened as the years went on, had still upon him the touch of family tradition, which may become either offensive pride or defensive self-respect.
Handing over the key, he grasped Ferrol's hand with an effusive confidence, and hurried out. Nic Lavilette was now an important person in his own sight and in the sight of others in Bonaventure. In him the pomp of his family took an individual form. Earlier than the appointed time, Ferrol turned the key and stepped inside the big despoiled hallway of the old farmhouse.
An hour later Nic Lavilette stood outside the door of Ferrol's bedroom in the Manor Casimbault, talking to the Regimental Surgeon, as Christine, pale and wildeyed, came running towards them. "Is he dead? is he dead?" she asked distractedly. "I've just come from the village. Why didn't you send for me? Tell me, is he dead? Oh, tell me at once!" She caught the Regimental Surgeon's arm.
One day an artist friend of his presented him with a small Chinese god made of crystal; he put this on his chimney-piece. It was on the evening of the day on which he received this gift that he dined, together with a friend named Sledge who had travelled much in Eastern countries, at his club. After dinner they went to Ferrol's rooms to smoke and to talk.
"It is no concern of the world," answered Shangois, stretching up his throat, for he still felt the pressure of Ferrol's fingers "only of the girl and her brother. The girl I saved her once before from your friend Vanne Castine, and I will save her from you but, yes! It is nothing to the world, to Bonaventure, that you are a robber; it is everything to her.
You're in for a bad drubbing." Nicolas had a sudden feeling of anger. This superior air of Ferrol's was assumed by most Englishmen in the country, and it galled him. "We'll not ask quarter of Englishmen; no-sacre!" he said in a rage. "Well, Nic, I'm not so sure of that. Better do that than break your pretty neck on a taut rope," was the lazy reply.
He ought to be in some Star Chamber Palmerston could make use of him." "Oh, he's kept busy enough with secrets here!" was Nicolas's laughing reply. "It's only a difference of size in the secrets anyhow," was Ferrol's response in the same vein; and in a few moments they had passed the Seigneury, and were drawn up before the great farmhouse.
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