"If I could assist you,——" began Mr. Abercorn, but stopped, for his glance wandered to his wife, who had never approved of Miss Clairville.
"You must not dream of such a thing, Marcus. Leave me here in this strange house, and go back by yourself along that awful road? Certainly not. Perhaps Father Rielle is going that way sooner than you, Dr. Renaud. Are you not, sir, anxious to—what do you call it—chercher mademoiselle?" Despite her knowledge of French it was the way of this lady to address the inhabitants of the countryside in English, it "accustomed them to it" and, she fervently hoped, tended to bring about the ultimate "Anglifying of the Province," to borrow a term much used by that distinguished patriot, Louis Honore Papineau, previous to 1857.
The priest, who had as yet no intention of returning to the barn, preferring that others should encounter the uncertain temper of one so recently tried in uncommon and painful ways, professed much interest in her plight, remarking, however, that he feared he did not drive well enough to find his way over the plateau of rock which lay between the road and the shelter.
"Then there is only Mr. Ringfield left!" exclaimed Mrs. Abercorn, much as if she were marshalling people in to dinner. "Yes, yes—you shall go for her, poor thing, but probably she deserves it; living on your charity, I hear, Mr. Poussette, and the other woman too; shocking, I call it! And belonging to quite an old family, quite old, I believe."
The idea of Pauline not paying anything towards her board while staying at Poussette's was painfully new to Ringfield; he had never thought of the matter, but now recalled her chronic condition of impecuniosity, and he saw directly how humiliating this must be for her and why it was necessary that she should find something to do. Henry Clairville, her natural and proper protector, could not apparently help her, the Englishman was fully as impotent, and Ringfield at once decided, while listening to the conversation, to seek her again and offer her a part of his stipend, the first instalment of which had been paid over by Poussette that morning. Everything favoured his quiet withdrawal, for the heat of the fire, the stacks of celery, and the splendid cognac, smuggled from the islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, and purchased by Poussette for twenty cents a bottle, were beginning to tell on both Mr. Abercorn and the doctor.
"Twenty cents, did you say?" hastily inquired the former, "I never heard anything like that! I think I must, I really must have a taste, just a drop, just a sip—thank you, Dr., thank you. My dear—a little for you too? No? Well, well, after all that exposure I do not believe, I really do not believe a little would hurt you. Ah! that's it, Dr., a small wineglassful for Mrs. Abercorn. There, my dear, I am sure you require it."
"Do you no harm," said Dr. Renaud. "'Tis fine stuff, the best French.
Makes one feel like a boy." And he began to sing.
"Quand j'étais sur mon père,
Je n'avais rien à faire
Quand j'étais sui mon père
Qu'une femme a chercher.
A present j'en ai une,
A present j'en ai une
Qui me fait enragé.
"Change that to 'en roulant ma boule' and I'm with you," said Mr. Abercorn, and the Doctor took him at his word; Mrs. Abercorn becoming very sleepy, was provided with rugs and pillows on a sofa in the hall, while the two gentlemen sipped cognac and munched celery till slumbers also overtook them.
Ringfield then moved. "Where is M. Clairville?" he asked Mme.
Poussette, tilting his chair back as she passed.