He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen to take the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in steel.
He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and the face of the girl. The door closed.
Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards the house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the direction of the barracks.
The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and of Christmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back.
Meantime the party at Windsor’s store was broken up. Pretty Pierre and Young Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say: “Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time.” Then they talked after this fashion:
“Ah, I know, ‘mon ami;’ for the last time! ‘Eh, bien,’ you will spend Christmas Day with us too—no? You surely will not leave us on the day of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow—and—eh, ‘mon ami,’ where do you go the next day? Oh, ‘pardon,’ I forgot, you spend the Christmas Day—I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young Aleck, that is what they say—the devil for the devil’s luck. So.”
“Stop that, Pierre.” There was fierceness in the tone. “I spend the Christmas Day where you don’t, and as I like, and the rest doesn’t concern you. I drink with you, I play with you—‘bien!’ As you say yourself, ‘bien,’ isn’t that enough?”
“‘Pardon!’ We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day after the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon’s Drive! Adieu!”
Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person. Poor Aleck.
“Poor Aleck!” That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the ne’er-do-weel!