I'm
young enough to make things bright and warm in your life, and the place
is big enough for two, even if it isn't the Manor Cartier."
"Figure de Christ, do you think I'd let you do it--me?" declared Jean
Jacques, with lips trembling now and his shoulders heaving. Misfortune
and pain and penalty he could stand, but sacrifice like this and--and
whatever else it was, were too much for him. They brought him back to the
dusty road and everyday life again; they subtracted him from his big
dream, in which he had been detached from the details of his catastrophe.
"No, no, no," he added. "You go look another way, Virginie. Turn your
face to the young spring, not to the dead winter. To-morrow I'll be gone
to find what I've got to find. I've finished here, but there's many a
good man waiting for you--men who'll bring you something worth while
besides themselves. Make no mistake, I've finished. I've done my term of
life. I'm only out on ticket-of-leave now--but there, enough, I shall
always want to think of you. I wish I had something to give you--but yes,
here is something." He drew from his pocket a silver napkin-ring. "I've
had that since I was five years old. My uncle Stefan gave it to me. I've
always used it. I don't know why I put it in my pocket this morning, but
I did. Take it. It's more than money. It's got something of Jean Jacques
about it.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290