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Updated: June 25, 2025
The Avocat sat in his little office, feebly fumbling among his papers, as Medallion entered on him and called to him cheerily: "We are coming to see you to-night, Garon the Cure, our Little Chemist, and the Seigneur; coming to supper." The Avocat put out his hand courteously; but he said in a shrinking, pained voice: "No, no, not to-night, Medallion. I would wish no visitors this night of all."
Kilquhanity's eyes closed, and he buried one side of his head in the pillow, that her shrill voice should not pierce his ears. "The Little Chemist 'll be comin' in a minit, dear Misther Garon," said the wife presently, and she began to fuss with the bedclothes and to be nervously and uselessly busy. "Aw, lave thim alone, darlin'," whispered Kilquhanity, tossing.
On one corner stood the house of Monsieur Garon the avocat; on another, the shop of the Little Chemist; on another, the office of Medallion the auctioneer; and on the last, the Hotel Louis Quinze.
Once also he had seen her veiled in the little crowded court-room of Pontiac when an interesting case was being tried, and noticed how she watched Monsieur Garon, standing so very still that she seemed lifeless; and how she stole out as soon as he had done speaking. Medallion had acute instincts, and was supremely a man of self-counsel.
They found the Cure, the avocat, and Medallion, talking together amiably. The three were greatly distressed by the representations of the member and De la Riviere. The Cure turned to Monsieur Garon, the avocat, inquiringly. "The law the law of the case is clear," said the avocat helplessly.
When he saw her, he stopped short in delighted surprise. Gathering up her skirts, she ran to him, put both hands on his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and said: "Monsieur Garon, Monsieur Garon, my good avocat, my Solon! are the coffee, and the history, and the blest madeira still chez-toi?"
"Evening, Garon. Live the Code Napoleon! Pipes for two." A change came slowly over the Avocat. His eyes drew away from that vista between the candles, and the strange distant look faded out of them. "Great is the Code Napoleon!" he said mechanically. Then, presently: "Ah, my friend, Medallion!" His first words were the answer to a formula which always passed between them on meeting.
During these words a change passed over Valmond. His restless body became still, his mobile face steady and almost set all the life of him seemed to have burnt into his eyes; but he answered nothing, and the Cure, in the pause, was constrained to say: "Our dear Monsieur Garon knows perfectly the history of France, and is devoted to the study of the Napoleonic times and of the Great Revolution alas for our people and the saints of Holy Church who perished then!"
I may not myself, for who would give the Blessed Sacrament, and speak to the sick, or say Mass and comfort you?" There was silence in the church for a moment, and many faces meanwhile turned instinctively to M. Garon the Avocat, and some to the Little Chemist. "Who will go?" asked the Cure again. "It is a bitter journey, but our pride must not be our shame in the end. Who will go?"
"Of course not," she answered. "Is he like the Cure, or Monsieur De la Riviere, or Monsieur Garon, or Monsieur Medallion?" "He's different," she said hesitatingly. "Better or worse?" "More more" she did not know what to say "more interesting." "Is he like the Judge Honourable that comes from Montreal, or the grand Governor, or the General that travels with the Governor?"
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