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Popincourt, together with a barber who had coiffed her wonderful hair once a week with a strange burning at his heart. That iceberg which most mourners carry in their breasts was not his, as he walked down the mountainside from Carmen's grave. Behind him trotted Mme. Glozel and Mme.
Glozel, and also to Mme. Popincourt as he passed her at the door of her house. Jean Jacques had no elation as he took the Western trail; there was not much hope in his voice; but there was purpose and there was a little stream of peace flowing through his being and also, mark, a stream of anger tumbling over rough places.
That iceberg which most mourners carry in their breasts was not his, as he walked down the mountainside from Carmen's grave. Behind him trotted Mme. Glozel and Mme. Popincourt, like little magpies, attendants on this eagle of sorrow whose life-love had been laid to rest, her heart-troubles over. Passion or ennui would no more vex her.
At last the inner thought of it got into her heart, and then it was in reply to Mme. Glozel, who asked her where her home was, she said: "In Heaven, but I did not know it!" And thus it was, too, that at the very last, when Jean Jacques followed the singing bird into her death-chamber, she cried out, "Ah, my beautiful Jean Jacques!"
Glozel, and also to Mme. Popincourt as he passed her at the door of her house. Jean Jacques had no elation as he took the Western trail; there was not much hope in his voice; but there was purpose and there was a little stream of peace flowing through his being and also, mark, a stream of anger tumbling over rough places.
Jean Jacques, left behind, paced backwards and forwards in front of the house waiting and looking up, for Mme. Glozel had said that behind the front window on the third floor was where the sick woman lived. He had not long to wait.
At Montreal, for one hallowed instant, he had regained his lost Carmen, but he had turned from her grave the only mourners being himself, Mme. Glozel and Mme. Popincourt, together with a barber who had coiffed her wonderful hair once a week with a strange burning at his heart.
Glozel's head was thrust out of the window three floors up, and she called to Jean Jacques to come quickly. As she bade him come, some strange premonition flashed to Jean Jacques, and with thumping heart he hastened up the staircase. Outside a bedroom door, Mme. Glozel met him. She was so excited she could only whisper. "Be very quiet," she said. "There is something strange.
Glozel had said to her neighbours afterwards that the funeral cost over seventy-five dollars and had set up a stone to her memory on which was carved, "Chez nous autrefois, et chez Dieu maintenant" which was to say, "Our home once, and God's Home now." That done, with a sorrow which still had the peace of finality in his mind, he had turned his face to the West.
He heard more than once the bells of memory ringing at the touch of the invisible hand of Destiny which accepts no philosophy save its own. At Montreal, for one hallowed instant, he had regained his lost Carmen, but he had turned from her grave the only mourners being himself, Mme. Glozel and Mme.
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