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Updated: May 23, 2025
The one chance seemed to be to shoot him, and there must be no bungling, lest his prostrate master suffer at the same time. The crowd had melted away into the houses, and were now standing at doorways and windows, ready for instant retreat. Filion Lacasse's gun was now at disposal, but who would fire it? Jo Portugais was an expert shot, and he reached out a hand for the weapon.
The wife of Filion Lacasse never failed to pray for him every day. The thousand dollars gained by the saddler on the tailor's advice had made her life happier ever since, for Filion had become saving and prudent, and had even got her a "hired girl." There were at least a half-dozen other women, including Madame Dauphin, who did the same.
Flynn that there had scarcely been a waking hour when she had not thought of him. "What Portugais knows, he'll not be tellin'," said Mrs. Flynn, after a moment. "An' 'tis no business of ours, is it, darlin'? Shure, there's Jo comin' out of the tailor-shop now!" They both looked out of the window, and saw Jo encounter Filion Lacasse the saddler, and Maximilian Cour the baker.
She was sorry and sinned no more," said the Notary's wife in querulous reprimand. "Well, Paulette does all that," said the stolid, dark-visaged groom. Filion Lacasse's ears pricked up. "How do you know she hasn't come back?" "Hasn't she, though! And with her child too last night." "Her child!" Madame Dauphin was scandalised and amazed. The groom nodded. "And doesn't care who knows it.
"I know nothing of the cross," he said quietly. "You're the only heretic in the place. You've done it. Who are you? What are you doing here in Chaudiere?" "Working at my trade," was Charley's quiet answer. He looked towards Louis Trudel, as though to see how he took this ugly charge. Old Louis responded at once. "Get away with you, Filion Lacasse," he croaked. "Don't come here with your twaddle.
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.
But she had never spied on people in her life! Yet would it be spying? Would it not be pardonable? In the interest of the man who had been attacked in the morning by the tailor, who had been threatened by the saddler, and concerning whom she had seen a signal pass between old Louis and Filion Lacasse, would it not be a humane thing to do?
He railed at Filion Lacasse; he called the suspicious habitants clodhoppers, who didn't know any better which was a tribute to his own superior birth; and at last, carried away by a feverish curiosity, he suggested that Rosalie should go and look through the cracks in the shutters of the tailor-shop and find out what was going on within.
In the shade made by the drooping branches he could not be seen, yet he could hear and see all. There was silence for a moment, and then Patsy began the tale of St. Droid "whoever he was," as Patsy said to himself; for he was going to make up out of his head this story of St. Droid and St. Droid's Day, and Queen Moira, Filion and Fiona.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat! the Seigneur's gold-headed cane rattled on the front door of the tailor-shop. It was plain to be seen his business was urgent. Madame Dauphin came hurrying from the postoffice, followed by Maximilian Cour and Filion Lacasse. "Ah, M'sieu', the tailor will not answer. There's no use knocking not a bit, M'sieu' Rossignol," said Madame.
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