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Updated: June 29, 2025
I never meant to let that out. I know you never cared a hang for me; that you were going to marry Dudley, if he hadn't been killed!" For one solid minute Paulette never opened her mouth. She sat like a colored statue, with rose-crimson cheeks and gold-bronze hair, under the white January sun. Her eyes were so dark in her face that they looked like blue-black ink.
But the two of us were in each other's arms. I don't know how long we clung or what we said. But at last I lifted my Indian-dark head from her gold one and spoke abruptly out of Paradise. "By gad, I have it!" "Have what?" Paulette gasped. "Oh, you certainly have most of my hair; it's all wound up in your coat buttons if you mean that!" I didn't.
At the sight of the lamp, the stove, and the visitor, who stands there like a magician in the midst of these wonders, they draw back almost frightened. Paulette is the first to comprehend it, and the arrival of the grandmother, who is more slowly mounting the stairs, finishes the explanation. Then come tears, ecstasies, thanks! But the wonders are not yet ended.
She tried to read it was no use; she tried to spin-her fingers trembled; she sorted the letters in the office again, and rearranged every letter and parcel and paper in its little pigeonhole then did it all over again. She took out again the letter Paulette had dropped in the letter-box; it was addressed in the name of the man at Montreal.
There, around Macartney's bared throat, lying on the white skin of his chest, green lights in the dull fire-glow of the cave, were Van Ruyne's emeralds, that Paulette Brown whose real name was Tatiana Paulina Valenka had never seen or touched since she put them back into Van Ruyne's velvet case! I will say Marcia Wilbraham knew when she was beaten.
Good-evening," she added, with an excess of courtesy. Paulette read the placid scorn in the girl's face; she did not see and would not understand that Rosalie did not scorn her for what she had ever done, but for something that she was. "You think I am the dirt under your feet," she said, now white, now red, and mad with anger. "I'm not fit to speak with you I'm a rag for the dust pile!"
Had she not fled from that enfolding, because her heart was so full in the hour of her triumph that she could not bear more, could not look longer into the eyes to which she had told her love before his was spoken? In the midst of her thoughts she heard footsteps. She started up. Paulette Dubois suddenly appeared in the path below.
It's all right. Hutton's gone by now. Anyhow, Macartney and I'll take care of you!" "Oh, my heavens," said Paulette: it sounded half as if she were sick with despair, and half as if I were hopelessly stupid. "Take care of me you can't take care of me! You should have let me go. It's too late now."
"I'm g-glad," said Paulette; and the word jerked out of her, and my arms jerked nearly out of me. In the dark the wagon had hit something that felt like nothing but a boulder in the middle of my decent road. The wagon stopped dead, with an up-ending lurch, and nothing holding it to the horses but the reins. Why on earth they held I don't know.
But the trouble among the old men kept on till we had none of them left except the four in the mill. It did not concern me particularly, except that I had to work on odd jobs that should not have concerned me either, and I did not think much about it. What I really did think about and it put me out of gear more than anything else at La Chance was Paulette Brown!
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