Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He could see the fat, wheezy Duclosse hesitate, but the arid, alert Garotte had determination in every motion and look. They came nearer; they were about to pass; there was no sign. Pomfrette stopped short. "Good-day, lime-burner; good-day, Duclosse," he said, looking straight at them. Garotte made no reply, but walked straight on. Pomfrette stepped swiftly in front of the mealman.
She is to buy masses for your father's soul; she is to pay money to the Cure for the good of the Church; she is to buy a little here, a little there, for the house you and she are going to live in, the wedding and the dancing over. Very well. Ah, my Pomfrette, what is the end you think? She run away with Dicey the Protestant, and take your money with her. Eh, is that so?"
Medallion had never refused to speak to him, but he had done nothing more. There was no reason why he should provoke the enmity of the parish unnecessarily; and up to this-point Pomfrette had shifted for himself after a fashion, if a hard fashion. With a bitter laugh, Pomfrette turned to the little bar. "Brandy," he said; "brandy, my Bourienne."
He left all his money with me: some to pay for Masses for his father's soul, some to buy things for for our home; and the rest to keep till he came back." "Yes, yes," said Pomfrette, his eyes fixed painfully on her face "yes, yes." "The day after Luc went away John Dicey the Protestant come to me. I'd always liked him; he could talk as Luc couldn't, and it sounded nice. I listened and listened.
"And you, M'sieu' Bourienne," he cried hoarsely, "do I not remember that dear M'sieu' Bourienne, when he beg me to leave Pontiac for a little while that I not give evidence in court against him? Eh bien! you all walk by me now, as if I was the father of smallpox, and not Luc Pomfrette only Luc Pomfrette, who spits at every one of you for a pack of cowards and hypocrites."
From a distant corner of the gallery a deeply veiled woman also looked down at Pomfrette, and her hand trembled on the desk before her. At last the Cure came forward to the chancel steps. "What is it, Parpon?" he asked gravely. "It is Luc Pomfrette, M'sieu' le Cure." Pomfrette's eyes were closed. "He swore that he would never come to Mass again," answered the good priest.
"You loved Junie?" the Cure said to Pomfrette. "I could have killed her, but I've always loved her," answered Luc. Then he raised his voice excitedly: "I love her, love her, love her but what's the good! She'd never 've been happy with me. Look what my love drove her to! What's the good, at all!" "She said she did not love you then, Luc Michee," said Parpon, interrupting.
Yet some one man had worn just such a bell every year in Pontiac. It was the mark of honour conferred upon a voyageur by his fellows, the token of his prowess and his skill. This year Luc Pomfrette had won it, and that very day it had been buckled round his leg with songs and toasts.
When you went away to the woods you never left a penny for candles, nor for Masses to be said for your father's soul; yet you sold his horse and his little house, and spent the money in drink. Not a cent for a candle, but " "It's a lie," cried Pomfrette, shaking with rage from head to foot. A long horror-stricken "Ah!" broke from the crowd. The Cure's face became graver and colder.
Pomfrette trembled so that Parpon and the Little Chemist made him sit down, and he leaned against their shoulders, while Junie went on: "I gave him Luc's money to go and give to Parpon here, for I was too ashamed to go myself. And I wrote a little note to Luc, and sent it with the money. I believed in John Dicey, of course.
Word Of The Day