That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the other homeless woman. When she knew of Blanche’s death she said: “Poor girl, poor girl!” and then she had gently added, “Poor Jacques!”
And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after the tragedy, did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave on the hillside, words which are for the hearts of the quick as for the untenanted dead.
To Jacques’s inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing and vague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was very ill, and again, that she was better, almighty better—now. The third day following the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her. The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir’s Tavern, where, they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placed him by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious in manner and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked for Blanche; but even now they had not the courage for it. The doctor nervously went out, as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said, “Jacques, let us have a little game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?”
The other replied without eagerness: “Voila, one game, then!”
They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shifted ever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silver piece, and said: “The last. My money is all gone. ‘Bien!’” He lost that too.
Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. He looked carelessly round, and then said loudly:
“Say, Joe, so you’ve buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!”
There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet, gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp. His hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on his lips and chin. He drew a handkerchief from his breast.
“Pardon!... Pardon!” he faintly cried in apology, and put it to his mouth.
Then he fell backwards in the arms of Soldier Joe, who wiped a moisture from the lifeless cheek as he laid the body on a bed.