A quarrel ended in a noisy
but harmless fight near one of the fires. M. Roussillon rushed to
the spot, seized the combatants, tousled them playfully, as if
they had been children, rubbed their heads together, laughed
stormily and so restored the equilibrium of temper.
It was late when fathers and mothers in the company began to
suggest adjournment. Oncle Jazon's elbow was tired and the
enthusiasm generated by his unrecognized Bergonzi became fitful,
while the relaxing crowd rapidly encroached upon the space set
apart for the dancers. In the open lamps suspended here and there
the oil was running low, and the rag wicks sputtered and winked
with their yellow flames.
"Well," said M. Roussillon, coming to where Alice and Beverley
stood insulated and isolated by their great delight in each
other's company, "it's time to go home."
Beverley looked at his watch; it was a quarter to three!
Alice also looked at the watch, and saw engraved and enameled on
its massive case the Beverley crest, but she did not know what it
meant. There was something of the sort in the back of her locket,
she remembered with satisfaction.
Just then there was a peculiar stir in the flagging crowd. Someone
had arrived, a coureur de bois from the north. Where was the
commandant? the coureur had something important for him.
Beverley heard a remark in a startled voice about the English
getting ready for a descent upon the Wabash valley.
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