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"Carnac Carnac! You don't know what you're doing." "Well, I will pretty quick," he replied stoutly. "I'm out after him, if they'll have me." That night Carnac mapped out his course, carefully framed the policy to offset that of Barode Barouche, and wrote a letter to the Chairman of the Opposition at Montreal offering to stand, and putting forward an ingenious policy.
So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the chintz- covered lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was buried. There was a smell of roses in the room. She had gathered many of them that afternoon. She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and fastened it in the bosom of her dress.
He realized what John Grier had said concerning politics that, given other characteristics, the making of laws meant success or failure for every profession or trade, for every interest in the country. He had known a few politicians; though he had never yet met the most dominant figure in the Province Barode Barouche, who had a singular fascination for him.
When she read the letter, she sank to the floor, overcome. Her son had triumphed indeed. The whole country rang with the defeat and death of Barode Barouche, and the triumph of the disinherited son of John Grier. Newspapers drew differing lessons from the event, but all admitted that Carnac, as a great fighter, was entitled to success.
Barode Barouche did not reply, but nodded a little scornfully. "A woman has called," continued the servant. "She wants to see you, m'sieu'. It's very important, she says." Barouche shook his head in negation. "No, Gaspard." "It ain't one of the usual kind, I think, m'sieu'," protested Gaspard. "It's about the election.
The truth was, Roudin dared not tell what he knew. It was based wholly on a talk he had partly overheard between Barode Barouche and Luzanne in the house where she stayed and where he, Roudin, lodged. It had not been definite, and he had no proofs. He was a sensationalist, and he had had his hour and could say no more, because of Barode Barouche.
"Now I see what I could not see ah yes, I see at last!" For another time of silence and turmoil he paced the floor, then he stopped short. "I'm glad they both are dead," he said wearily. Thinking of Barode Barouche, he had a great bitterness. "To treat any woman so how glad I am I fought him! He learned that such vile acts come home at last." Then he thought of John Grier.
The Press were friendly to the memory of Barode Barouche, and some unduly praised his work, and only a few disparaged his career. When news of the tragedy came to Mrs. Grier, she was reading in the papers of Carnac's victory, and in her mind was an agonizing triumph, pride in a stern blow struck for punishment. The event was like none she could have imagined.
He had for him a sympathy which, to himself, seemed a matter of temperament. "Mother," he said, "wouldn't you like to go and hear Barode Barouche at St. Annabel? You know him I mean personally?" "Yes, I knew him long ago," was the scarcely vocal reply. "He's a great, fine man, isn't he? Wrong-headed, wrong-purposed, but a big fine fellow."
It seemed natural that both men, ignorant of their own tragedy, believing themselves to be father and son, should feel for each other the torture of distance, a misunderstanding, which only she and one other human being understood. John Grier was not the boy's father. Carnac was the son of Barode Barouche. After a moment he said: "Mother, I know why I've come to you.