urgoyne, left it on the day of his
shame.

When at last Pomfrette opened his eyes, and saw the Cure standing beside
him, he turned his face to the wall, and to the exhortation addressed
to him he answered nothing. At last the Cure left him, and came no more;
and he bade Parpon do the same as soon as Pomfrette was able to leave
his bed.

But Parpon did as he willed. He had been in Pontiac only a few days
since the painful business in front of the Louis Quinze. Where he
had been and what doing no one asked, for he was mysterious in his
movements, and always uncommunicative, and people did not care to tempt
his inhospitable tongue. When Pomfrette was so far recovered that he
might be left alone, Parpon said to him one evening:

"Pomfrette, you must go to Mass next Sunday."

"I said I wouldn't go till I was carried there, and I mean it--that's
so," was the morose reply.

"What made you curse like that--so damnable?" asked Parpon furtively.

"That's my own business. It doesn't matter to anybody but me."

"And you said the Cure lied--the good M'sieu' Fabre--him like a saint."

"I said he lied, and I'd say it again, and tell the truth."

"But if you went to Mass, and took your penance, and--"

"Yes, I know; they'd forgive me, and I'd get absolution, and they'd all
speak to me again, and it would be, 'Good-day, Luc,' and 'Very good,
Luc,' and 'What a gay heart has Luc, the good fellow!' Ah, I know. They
curse in the heart when the whole world go wrong for them; no one hears.
I curse out loud. I'm not a hypocrite, and no one thinks me fit to live.
Ack, what is the good!"

Parpon did not respond at once. At last, dropping his chin in his hand
and his elbow on his knee, as he squatted on the table, he said:

"But if the girl got sorry--"

For a time there was no sound save the whirring of the fire in the stove
and the hard breathing of the sick man. His eyes were staring hard at
Parpon. At last he said, slowly and fiercely:

"What do you know?"

"What others might know if they had eyes and sense; but they haven't.
What would you do if that Junie come back?"

"I would kill her." His look was murderous.

"Bah, you would kiss her first, just the same!"

"What of that? I would kiss her because--because there is no face like
hers in the world; and I'd kill her for her bad heart."

"What did she do?" Pomfrette's hands clinched.

"What's in my own noddle, and not for any one else," he answered
sulkily.

"Tiens,