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Updated: May 4, 2025
Yes; one is asked to believe that at the chateau yonder was seen last night three times the apparition of Armand de Fontonelles! Dick started. "Armand de Fontonelles!" He remembered that she had repeated that name. "Who's he?" he demanded abruptly. "The first Comte de Fontonelles! When monsieur knows that the first comte has been dead three hundred years, he will see the imbecility of the affair!"
What stupid ignorance ruled, what low cunning and low tact could achieve, in effect, what jugglers and mountebanks, hypocritical priests and licentious and lying noblesse went to make up existing society. Ah, there had been a fine excitement, a regular coup d'theatre at Fontonelles, the chateau yonder; here at the village, where the news was brought by frightened grooms and silly women!
And the present Comte de Fontonelles cascading gold on his mistresses in Paris; and the Comtesse, his mother, and her daughter living there to feed and fatten and pension a brood of plotting, black-cowled priests. Ah, bah! where was your Republican France, then? But a time would come. The "Booflo-bil" had, without doubt, noticed, as he came along the road, the breaches in the wall of the park?
I'm sorry I skeert that old preacher, but he came upon me in the picture hall so suddent, that it was a mighty close call, I tell you, to get off without a shindy. Please forgive me, Miss Fontonelles. When you get this, I shall be going back home to America, but you might write to me at Denver City, saying you're all right.
C'est vous que Marie a crue voir! Que venez-vous faire ici, Armand de Fontonelles? Repondez!" Alas, not a word was comprehensible to Dick; nor could he think of a word to say in reply. He made an uncouth, half-irritated, half-despairing gesture towards the wood he had quitted, as if to indicate his helpless horse, but he knew it was meaningless to the frightened yet exalted girl before him.
Take her for your wife! It is monstrous! it is impossible! it is so!" There was a silence of a few minutes, and Dick looked blankly at the iron gates of the park of Fontonelles. Then he said: "Give me a cigar." Monsieur Ribaud instantly produced his cigar case.
It was an old affair, with armor and a picture-gallery, and bricabrac. He had never seen it. Not even as a boy, it was kept very secluded then. As a man you understand he could not ask the favor. The Comtes de Fontonelles and himself were not friends. The family did not like a cafe near their sacred gates, where had stood only the huts of their retainers.
"A romance, an innocent, foolish liaison, if you like, but, all the same, if known of a Mademoiselle de Fontonelles, a compromising, a fatal entanglement. There you are. Look! for this, then, all this story of cock and bulls and spirits! Mademoiselle has been discovered with her lover by some one. This pretty story shall stop their mouths!"
The American would observe that he had not called it "Cafe de Chateau," nor "Cafe de Fontonelles," the gold of California would not induce him. Why did he remain there? Naturally, to goad them! It was a principle, one understood. To GOAD them and hold them in check! One kept a cafe, why not? One had one's principles, one's conviction, that was another thing!
Dick took a cigar, but waved aside the proffered match, and entering the cafe, took from his pocket the letter to Mademoiselle de Fontonelles, twisted it in a spiral, lighted it at a candle, lit his cigar with it, and returning to the veranda held it in his hand until the last ashes dropped on the floor. Then he said, gravely, to Ribaud:
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