He did not understand; the sudden incident bewildered
him; but his virile nature was instantly and wholly charmed.
Something like a breath of violets shook the tenderest chords of
his heart.
Alice stood firmly, a statue of triumph, her right arm
outstretched, holding the flag high above Hamilton's head; and
close by her side the little hunchback Jean was posed in his most
characteristic attitude, gazing at the banner which he himself had
stolen and kept hidden for Alice's sake, and because he loved it.
There was a dead silence for some moments, during which Hamilton's
face showed that he was ready to collapse; then the keen voice of
Oncle Jazon broke forth:
"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vim la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!"
He sprang to the middle of the area and flung his old cap high in
air, with a shrill war-whoop.
"H'ist it! h'ist it! hissez la banniere de Mademoiselle Alice
Roussillon! Voila, que c'est glorieuse, cette banniere la! H'ist
it! h'ist it!"
He was dancing with a rickety liveliness, his goatish legs and
shriveled body giving him the look of an emaciated satyr.
Clark had been told by some of his creole officers the story of
how Alice raised the flag when Helm took the fort, and how she
snatched it from Hamilton's hand, as it were, and would not give
it up when he demanded it. The whole situation pretty soon began
to explain itself, as he saw what Alice was doing.
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