“Some peop' like separate us, Melinda, but we not let them.”
The conflict of Honoré and Clethera with Jules and Melinda ended one day in August. There had been no domestic clamor in this silent grapple of forces. The young man used no argument except maxims and morals and a tightening of authority; the young girl permitted neither neighboring maids nor the duties of religion to lure her off guard. It may be said of any French half-breed that he has all the instincts of gentility except an inclination to lying, and that arises from excessive politeness.
Honoré came to the fence at noon and called Clethera. In his excitement he crossed the stile and stood on her premises.
“It no use, Clethera. Jules have tell me this morning he have arrange' de marriage.”
Clethera glanced behind her at the house she called home, and threw herself in Honoré's arms, as she had often done in childish despairs. Neither misunderstood the action, and it relieved them to shed a few tears on each other's necks. This truly Latin outburst being over, they stood apart and wiped their eyes on their sleeves.
“It no use,” exclaimed Clethera, “to set a good examp' to your grandmother!”
“I not wait any longer now,” announced Honoré, giving rein to fierce eagerness. “I go to de war to-day.”
“But de camp is move',” objected Clethera.
“I have pass' de examin', and I know de man to go to when I am ready; he promis' to get me into de war. Jules have de sails up now, ready to take me across to de train.”
“But who will have de boat when you are gone, Honoré?”