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But she had never spied on people in her life! Yet would it be spying? Would it not be pardonable? In the interest of the man who had been attacked in the morning by the tailor, who had been threatened by the saddler, and concerning whom she had seen a signal pass between old Louis and Filion Lacasse, would it not be a humane thing to do?
Then M. Dauphin, the Notary, who had joined the crowd, held out a hand coaxingly, and with insinuating rhetoric drew a little nearer than the landlord had done; but he retreated precipitously as the hound crouched back for a spring. Some one called for a gun, and Filion Lacasse ran into his shop. The animal had now settled down on his master's body, his bloodshot eyes watching in menace.
The Seigneur put his large gold-handled glass to his eye and looked interestedly after Charley for a moment, then answered: "Well, Dauphin, what?" "He's been giving Filion Lacasse advice about the old legacy business, and Filion's taken it; and he's got a thousand dollars; and now there's all that fuss.
"It will cost sixty thousand dollars to build it up again," said Filion Lacasse. "We have three thousand dollars from the Passion Play," said the Notary. "That could go towards it." "We have another two thousand in the bank," said Maximilian Cour. "But it will take years," said the saddler disconsolately. Charley looked at the Cure, mournful and broken but calm.
Indeed he was indifferent to it, for he had a matter on his mind this day which bitterly absorbed him. But the Notary was not indifferent. "Look there, what do you think of that?" he asked querulously. "I am glad to see that Lacasse treats Monsieur well," said the Cure. "What do you think of that, Monsieur?" repeated the Notary excitedly to the Seigneur.
The foot of the man still beat the ground angrily, and the little bell kept tinkling. He was gasping with passion, and he did not answer yet. "Luc Pomfrette, what have you to say?" asked the Cure again. He motioned back Lacasse, the constable of the parish, who had suddenly appeared with a rusty gun and a more rusty pair of handcuffs. Still the voyageur did not answer.
There had not been a death in the parish all summer, and births had occurred out of all usual proportion. When Filion Lacasse commented thereon, and mentioned the fact that even the Notary's wife had had the gift of twins as the crowning fulness of the year, Maximilian Cour, who was essentially superstitious, tapped on the table three times, to prevent a turn in the luck.
Presently Charley staggered to his feet, purpose in his face. These people, from the Cure and Seigneur to the most ignorant habitant, were hopeless and inert. The pride of their lives was gone. "Gather the people together," he said to the Notary and Filion Lacasse. Then he turned to the Cure and the Seigneur.
"It will cost sixty thousand dollars to build it up again," said Filion Lacasse. "We have three thousand dollars from the Passion Play," said the Notary. "That could go towards it." "We have another two thousand in the bank," said Maximilian Cour. "But it will take years," said the saddler disconsolately. Charley looked at the Cure, mournful and broken but calm.
Before he left the post-office, Filion Lacasse, Maximilian Cour, and Mrs. Flynn had given forth his history, as related by Jo Portugais. The village was agog with excitement. But attention was not centred on himself, for Rosalie's courage had set the parish talking.
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