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Updated: April 30, 2025
In the splendor of it all he had only raged and stormed, hating his fellow-man, waiting, however hopelessly, for the day when he should see Marcile and the man who had taken her from him.
"God forgive me God save my soul!" he whispered. He was not concerned for Grassette now. "Queeck-queeck, where is Marcile?" Grassette said sharply. "Come back, Bignold. Listen where is Marcile?" He strained to hear the answer. Bignold was going, but his eyes opened again, however, for this call seemed to pierce to his soul as it struggled to be free. "Ten years since I saw her," he whispered.
Dead or alive, he was in Keeley's Gulch, the man who knew where Marcile was; and if he knew where Marcile was, and if she was alive, and he was outside these prison walls, what would he do to her? And if he was outside these prison walls, and in the Gulch, and the man was there alive before him, what would he do?
But it was a new sort of Jacques Grassette who, that morning, spoke to him with the simplicity and eagerness of a child; and the suddenly conceived gift of a pony stallion, which every man in the parish envied Jacques, won Valloir over; and Jacques went "away back" with the first timid kiss of Marcile Valloir burning on his cheek.
Grassette felt hastily in the dead man's pocket, drew forth a letter, and with half-blinded eyes read the few lines it contained. It was dated from a hospital in New York, and was signed: "Nurse Marcile." With a moan of relief Grassette stood staring at the dead man. When the others came to him again, his lips were moving, but they did not hear what he was saying.
All in a moment it came and stayed; and he spoke to her, to Marcile, that very night, and he spoke also to her father, Valloir the farrier, the next morning by lamplight, before he started for the woods.
They took up the body and moved away with it up the ravine. "It's all right, Grassette. You'll be a free man," said the Sheriff. Grassette did not answer. He was thinking how long it would take him to get to Marcile, when he was free. He had a true vision of beginning life again with Marcile.
But it was a new sort of Jacques Grassette who, that morning, spoke to him with the simplicity and eagerness of a child; and the suddenly conceived gift of a pony stallion, which every man in the parish envied Jacques, won Valloir over; and Jacques went "away back" with the first timid kiss of Marcile Valloir burning on his cheek.
"Good girl Marcile. She loves you, but she is afraid." He tried to say something more, but his tongue refused its office. "Where is she-spik!" commanded Grassette in a tone of pleading and agony now. Once more the flying spirit came back. A hand made a motion towards his pocket, then lay still.
They realized that these two men had an account to settle, and there was no need for Grassette to take revenge, for Bignold was going fast. "You stan' far back," said Grassette, and they fell away. Then he stooped down to the sunken, ashen face, over which death was fast drawing its veil. "Marcile where is Marcile?" he asked. The dying man's lips opened.
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