Silence fell. In another moment the Cure finished his sermon, but not
till his eyes had again met those of Valmond, and there had passed into
his mind a sudden, startling thought.
Unconsciously the Cure had declared himself the patron of all that made
Pontiac for ever a notable spot in the eyes of three nations: and if he
repented of it, no man ever knew.
During mass and the sermon Valmond had sat very still, once or twice
smiling curiously at thought of how, inactive himself, the gate of
destiny was being opened up for him. Yet he had not been all inactive. He
had paid much attention to his toilet, selecting, with purpose, the white
waistcoat, the long, blue-grey coat cut in a fashion anterior to this
time by thirty years or more, and particularly to the arrangement of his
hair. He resembled Napoleon--not the later Napoleon, but the Bonaparte,
lean, shy, laconic, who fought at Marengo; and this had startled the Cure
in his pulpit, and the rest of the little coterie.
But Madame Chalice, sitting not far from Elise Malboir, had seen the
resemblance in the Cure's garden on Friday evening; and though she had
laughed at it, for, indeed, the matter seemed ludicrous enough at
first,--the impression had remained.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60