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Updated: June 23, 2025
The Seigneury of Pontiac belongs to Monsieur Racine, and but three days since Madame here dismissed this fellow for pilfering and other misdemeanours. As for shooting the man is a liar, and " "Ah, do you deny that I came to you? " began Tardif. "Constables," said Fournel, "I give this fellow in charge. Take him to gaol, and I will appear at court against him when called upon."
By right of it only could he look the world in the face or me." She stopped suddenly, for her voice choked her. "Will you please continue?" said Fournel, opening and shutting the will in his hand, and looking at her with a curious new consideration. "Fame came to me as his trouble came to him.
"Forgive me, if you can," he said. "You have this to comfort you, that if friendship is a boon in this world you have an honest friend in George Fournel." She made a gesture of assent with her hand, but she did not speak. Tears were stealing quietly down her cold face. For a moment so, in silence, and then she rose to her feet, and pulled down over her face the veil she wore.
I am as strong as you there stronger, and I will have your blood. Coward! Coward! Coward! I will give you till I count three. One!... Two!..." Fournel did not stir. He could not make up his mind what to do. Cry out? No one could come in time to prevent the onslaught and onslaught there would be, he knew.
She collapsed with a cry of despair, for he had held the flaming paper above her reach, and its ashes were now scattering on the floor. "You will let me give you some wine?" he said quietly, and poured out a glassful. Madelinette was faint, and, sitting down, she drank the wine feebly, then leaned her head against the back of the chair, her face turned from Fournel.
George Fournel pushed the men back who would have entered the bath-room, and himself, bursting the door open, entered. Louis lay dead upon the floor. He turned to the constables. "As she said, you cannot have him now. You have no right here. Go. I had a warning from the man he killed. I knew there would be trouble. But I have come too late," he added bitterly.
Fournel's mind was conscious of this feeling, this sense of futile, foolish waste and disfigurement, even as the Seigneur said "Three!" and, rushing forward, thrust. As Fournel saw the blade spring at him, he dropped on one knee, caught it with his left hand as it came, and wrenched it aside.
The will I brought you, M'sieu'. The will leaving the Manor of Pontiac to you!" Fournel turned as though with sudden anger to the officers. "You come here you enter my house to interfere with a guest of mine, on the charge of a drunken scoundrel like this! What is this talk of wills! The vapourings of his drunken brain.
The servant stared stonily at first, then, as she mentioned her name and he saw her face, he suddenly became servile, and asked them into a small waiting- room. Monsieur Fournel was at home, and should be informed at once of Madame's arrival. A few moments later the servant, somewhat graver, but as courteous still, came to say that Monsieur would receive her in his library.
"You are bound to give me these things I ask for, as a matter of justice if you know what justice means," he said at last. "You should be aware of that," answered the Seigneur, with a kindling look. He felt every glance of Fournel's eye a contemptuous comment upon his deformity, now so egregious and humiliating. "I taught you justice once." Fournel was not to be moved from his phlegm.
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