"Better hurry, Mere Langlois, or everybody won't hear your story before
sundown. If your throat gets tired, there's Brown's Bronchial Troches--"
She pointed to an advertisement on the fence near by. "M. Fille's cook
says they cure a rasping throat."
With that shot, Virginie Poucette whipped up her horses and drove on.
She did not hear what Mere Langlois called after her, for Mere Langlois
had been slow to recover from the unexpected violence dealt by one whom
she had always bullied.
"Poor Jean Jacques!" said Virginie Poucette to herself as her horses ate
up the ground. "That's another bit of bad luck. He'll not sleep to-
night. Ah, the poor Jean Jacques--and all alone--not a hand to hold; no
one to rumple that shaggy head of his or pat him on the back! His wife
and Ma'm'selle Zoe, they didn't know a good thing when they had it. No,
he'll not sleep to-night-ah, my dear Jean Jacques!"
CHAPTER XIX
SEBASTIAN DOLORES DOES NOT SLEEP
But Jean Jacques did sleep well that night; though it would have been
better for him if he had not done so. The contractor's workmen had
arrived in the early afternoon, he had seen the first ton of debris
removed from the ruins of the historic mill, and it was crowned by the
gold Cock of Beaugard, all grimy with the fire, but jaunty as of yore.
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