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Updated: May 9, 2025
The mother now called out to the pinioned man, as she had done to Gaston: "You have killed my boy!" She kissed Gaston's bloody face. A messenger was soon on the way to Ridley Court, and in a little upper room Jacques was caring for his master. Gaston lay for many days at "The Whisk o' Barley." During that time the inn was not open to customers.
I will finish the story. "On leaving Mihonne, who had given him a full account of the misfortunes of Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie, Clameran hastened to London. "He had no difficulty in finding the farmer's wife to whom the old countess had intrusted Gaston's son. "But here an unexpected disappointment greeted him.
As we jolted along through the May night, all sorts of agitating thoughts poured into my mind about Francezka. She was at that moment, probably, in a heaven of her own making; for, be it observed, I doubted not in the least that Jacques Haret knew what he was talking about. I was somewhat surprised that he knew in advance of Gaston's arrival, but that was easily accounted for.
He came riding with his companions towards evening along the road which had suddenly abandoned its day-long straightness for wanton curves and ascents; and there, as an owl on the wing cried softly, beyond the tops of the spreading poplars was the west front, silver-grey, and quiet, inexpressibly quiet, with its worn, late- gothic "flamings" from top to bottom, as full of reverie to Gaston's thinking as the enchanted castle in a story-book.
"I remember that moan of the lake," she said "or I think I remember it as Monsieur Gaston Cheverny thought he remembered the inscription on the statue." "Yonder comes Gaston, now," I said. "No," said she, sweeping her glance toward a figure afar off, descending the steps of the terrace. "It is Monsieur Regnard Cheverny." "And here is the other Cheverny," said Gaston's voice behind us.
There was a low, broad couch near the hearth piled with pine cushions covered with odds and ends of material that had come into a man's possession from limited sources. A table, home-made, and some Hillcrest chairs completed the furnishings, except for the china and cooking utensils that ornamented shelves and hooks around the room. An inner door opened into Gaston's bedchamber and sanctum.
Then, gradually, if nothing removes him from his surroundings, he grows accustomed to them, and adapts himself to the vacuity which grows upon him and renders him powerless. Even now, Gaston's lungs were accustomed to the air; and he was willing to discern a kind of vegetable happiness in days that brought no mental exertion and no responsibilities.
It is rare, indeed, that a person is encountered possessing such well-proportioned, evenly-balanced, distinguishing characteristics as it has been Mr. Gaston's lot to enjoy. His steady, onward march over the rough places and up the hill in his learned profession abundantly attest his greatness. No being can occupy, nor even approach, the very foremost rank in the legal arena save he be great.
His look was now steady and penetrating, but he met one just as firm. "You are Gaston Robert Belward? May I ask for further information?" There was furtive humour playing at Gaston's mouth. The old man's manner had been so unlike anything he had ever met, save, to an extent, in his father, that it interested him. He replied, with keen distinctness: "You mean, why I have come home?"
Gaston had taken Joyce's hands in welcome. "It's too bad," he said, "to set you to work after your stint's over. The room looks as if you'd bewitched it. I tell you, Jude, there never was a man yet who could juggle with a house and put the soul in it." Joyce flushed happily, and took Gaston's hat from him, as he pulled off his coat. "I'll have everything ready in a jiffy," she said briskly.
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