She spoke out like this: 'Oh, if I could
only do something, something, some big thing! What is all this silly
coming and going to me, when I know, I know I might do it, if I had the
chance! O Harry, Harry, can't you see!'"
"Harry was her husband. Ah, what a fisherman was he!" said Parpon,
nodding. "What did she mean by doing 'big things'?" he added.
"How do I know?" she asked fretfully. "But Monsieur Valmond seems to me
like her, just the same."
"Monsieur Valmond is a great man," said Parpon slowly.
"You know!" she cried; "you know! Oh, tell me, what is he? Who is he?
Where does he come from? Why is he here? How long will he stay? Tell me,
how long will he stay?" She caught flutteringly at Parpon's shoulder.
"You remember what I sang the other night?" he asked.
"Yes, yes," she answered quickly. "Oh, how beautiful it was! Ah, Parpon,
why don't you sing for us oftener, and all the world would love you,
and--"
"I don't love the world," he retorted gruffly; "and I'll sing for the
devil" (she crossed herself) "as soon as for silly gossips in Pontiac."
"Well, well!" she asked; "what had your song to do with him, with
Monsieur Valmond?"
"Think hard, my dear," he said, with mystery in his look.
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