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Updated: June 29, 2025
Some one has robbed Nicolas Lavilette of five thousand dollars. You dare to charge me with it, curse you. Let me see if there's any more lies on your tongue!" With the violence of the pressure Shangois's tongue was forced out of his mouth. Suddenly a paroxysm of coughing seized Ferrol, and he let go and staggered back against the window ledge. Shangois was transformed an animal.
I'll never lie to her; and I'll do something else something else. I'll tell her " He reached out, picked a wild rose from the vine upon the wall, and fastened it in his button-hole, with a defiant sort of smile, as there came a tap to his door. "Come in," he said. The door opened, and in stepped Shangois, the notary.
"There's a new jug of medicine or cordial come this morning from Shangois, the notary," said Lavilette. "I just happened to think of it. What he does counts. He knows a lot." Ferrol's eyes showed interest at once. "I'll try it. I'll try it. The stuff Gatineau the miller sent doesn't do any good now." "Shangois is here he's downstairs if you want to see him." Ferrol nodded. He was tired of talking.
It was only when Shangois was a third of the way across, that he knew the mare's rider. There was no time to turn the bridge back, and there was no time for Shangois to stop the headlong pace of the mare. She gave a wild whinny of fright, and jumped cornerwise, clear out across the chasm, towards the moving bridge.
What is there to Bon'venture? Ha! you ask that? I know and you know, M'sieu' Shangois. There is nosing like Bon'venture in all de worl'. "What is it you would have? Do you want nice warm house in winter, plenty pork, molass', patat, leetla drop whiskey 'hind de door in de morning? Ha! you come to Bon'venture. Where else you fin' it? You want people say: 'How you do, Vanne Castine how you are?
Though, if any people really cared for her, and she for them, they were the Regimental Surgeon and Shangois the notary. Once, as they walked on, she turned and looked back at the Manor House, but only for an instant. He caught the glance, and said: "You'll like to live there, won't you?" "I don't know," she answered almost sharply. "But if the Casimbaults liked it, I don't see why we shouldn't."
He looked back, and saw the mare lightly leaning to her work, and a little man hanging to her back. He did not know who it was; and if he had known he would have wondered. Shangois had ridden to camp to fetch him back to Bonaventure for two purposes: to secure the five thousand dollars from Ferrol, and to save Nic's sister from marrying a highwayman.
Castine was blowing clouds of smoke from his pipe, and Shangois was pouring some tea leaves into a little tin pot, humming to himself snatches of an old song as he did so: "What shall we do when the King comes home? What shall we do when he rides along With his slaves of Greece and his serfs of Rome? What shall we sing for a song When the King comes home?
Shangois, with his dreams of malice and fighting, and the secrets of a half-dozen parishes strapped to his back, had dropped out of Bonaventure, as a stone crumbles from a bank into a stream, and many waters pass over it, and no one inquires whither it has gone, and no one mourns for it. ON Sunday morning Ferrol lay resting on a sofa in a little room off the saloon.
That night, while gaiety and feasting went on at the Lavilettes', there was another sort of feasting under way at the house of Shangois, the notary. On one side of a tiny fire in the chimney, over which hung a little black kettle, sat Shangois and Vanne Castine.
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