. . I can't bear to think of you going away with
nothing, with nobody, when here is something and somebody--somebody
who would be good to you. Everybody knows that you've been badly used--
everybody. 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.
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