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"Dat Spitz fight lak hell," said Perrault, as he surveyed the gaping rips and cuts. "An' dat Buck fight lak two hells," was Francois's answer. "An' now we make good time. No more Spitz, no more trouble, sure." While Perrault packed the camp outfit and loaded the sled, the dog-driver proceeded to harness the dogs.
Delighted to learn that I was so near my dearest and oldest friend in the world, I shook Francois's hand, and parted; but not without a pledge, that whenever I joined the infantry, the Fifth Voltigeurs of the Line were to have the preference.
As Buck sprang to punish him, the lash of Francois's whip sang through the air, reaching the culprit first; and nothing remained to Buck but to recover the bone. That was fair of Francois, he decided, and the half-breed began his rise in Buck's estimation. The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did not attempt to steal from the newcomers.
"Were there candles?" prompted Craig, as the flow of Francois's description ceased. "Oh yes, candles," he agreed, eagerly. "Favors at each place?" "Yes, sir." I could see no sense in the proceeding, yet knew Kennedy too well to suppose, for an instant, that he had not some purpose. The questioning over, Kennedy withdrew, leaving poor Francois more mystified than ever.
Francois's whip snapped less frequently, and Perrault even honored Buck by lifting up his feet and carefully examining them.
A moment more and the crack of his rifle was heard. At the same instant the dust rose up from the point at which he had aimed, and several small fragments flew off into the water. Again was heard François's "hurrah," for François, as well as the others, had seen that the rope had been hit at the right place, and now exhibited a mangled appearance.
But Francois Lagarre, under another name, works in another land. While the Cure lived he heard of him and of his fame now and then, and to the day of his death he always prayed for him. He was wont to say to the little Avocat whenever Francois's name was mentioned: "The spirit of a man will support him, but a wounded spirit who can bear?"
Green hedges separated it from other plots of land, and these lofty walls of hawthorn fringed the horizon with a curtain of greenery in such wise that of all the surrounding country Mont Valerien alone seemed to rise inquisitively on tip-toe in order to peer into Madame Francois's close. Great peacefulness came from the countryside which could not be seen.
"That will be Wednesday night and Thursday night of next week?" "Yes." "Good! Now I'll show you how you're going to make this money. I want François to have a little vacation; he looks tired. I want him to go into the country on Tuesday and stay until Friday." "And his work? Who will do his work?" Coquenil smiled quietly and tapped his breast. "You?" "I will take François's place.
He had been unconscious of all the wicked things said about him: now he knew all! "Remove the canvas from the figure," said the Cure sternly. Stubbornness and resentment filled Francois's breast. He did not stir. "Do you oppose the command of the Church?" said the Cure, still more severely. "Remove the canvas."
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