The rumble of the big turbines was stilled when she came to the fence which surrounded the rack, and old Etienne was starting away with rake and pike-pole. But when she called he came to her—wondering, much abashed, for she was by far the prettiest lady he had ever seen.
“Are you the friend of Mr. Walker Farr?” she asked, and she was even more embarrassed than he.
“I am too poor mans to be call a friend, ma'm'selle. I can just say that he is grand mans that I love.”
“Then you are the one to give him this message. Tell him that men who are fighting him in politics intend to do him great harm and that he must be very careful. Tell him that he will understand who these men are.”
“Oui, ma'm'selle. But will he understand who tell me that thing?”
Her cheeks were crimson. “No, no! He mustn't know that.”
“Then he will tell me, 'Poh, old Etienne, you know nottings what you talk about.' He is very bold mans, and he not scare very easy.”
“But he must be cautious, for these men have power. He need not be afraid of them, but he must watch carefully. You tell him that they want to make out bad things about him so that they can print them in the papers and hurt the cause he is working for. Can you remember?”
“Oui, ma'm'selle! I never forget anything what may be for his good. I will tell him.”
She hesitated for a long time and stared wistfully at the old man. She started to go away and then returned to the fence, plainly mustering her courage.