"God knows she is just, and would see him fairly treated. She is so far
beneath him! and yet one can serve a friend though one is humble and
poor."
"How strange," he rejoined, "that the man should think himself miserable
who is befriended in such a way! Mademoiselle, he will carry to his grave
the kindness of this woman."
"Monsieur," she added humbly, yet with a brave light in her eyes, "it is
good to care whether the wind blows bitter or kind. Every true woman is a
mother, though she have no child. She longs to protect the suffering,
because to protect is in her so far as God is. . . . Well, this woman
cares that way. . . ." She held out her hand to say good-bye. Her look
was simple, direct, and kind. Their parting words were few and
unremarkable.
Roscoe watched Justine Caron as she passed out into the shade of the
woods, and he said to himself: "Gratitude like that is a wonderful
thing." He should have said something else, but he did not know, and she
did not wish him to know: and he never knew.
CHAPTER XVI
A DUEL IN ARCADY
The more I thought of Mrs. Falchion's attitude towards Roscoe, the more I
was puzzled.
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