"
The old man started and muttered harshly, but Fleda had foreseen the
entrance of the dissolute Frenchman into the tale, and gave no sign of
surprise.
"M'sieu' Marchand bought horses," the sad voice trailed on. "One day he
bought the mining-claims Dennis had been holding till he could develop
them or sell them for good money. When Dennis went to town again he
brought me back a present of a belt with silver clasps; but yet again
that night he slept upon the floor alone. So it went on. M. Marchand, he
goes on to the mountains and comes back; and he buys more horses, and
Dennis takes them to Yargo, and M. Marchand goes with him, but comes back
before Dennis does. It was then M'sieu' begun to talk to me; to say
things that soothe a woman when she is hurt. I knew now Dennis did not
want me as when he first married me. He was that kind of man--quick to
care and quicker to forget. He was weak, he could not fasten where he
stood. It pleased him to be gay and friendly with me when he was sober,
but there was nothing behind it--nothing, nothing at all. At last I began
to cry when I thought of it, for it went on and on, and I was too much
alone. I looked at myself in the glass, and I saw I was not old or lean.
I sang in the trees beside the brook, and my voice was even a little
better than in the days when Dennis first came to my father's house.
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