TRUE LOVE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH
This done, Herbert and the rest of us could go back to the inn in Le Blanc’s motor.
The first load brought Herbert, Brierley, and myself, Le Blanc driving: Lemois had remained with Gaston. Mignon, with staring, inquiring eyes, her apron over her head to protect her from the wet, met us at the outer gate, but not a word was said by any of us about Gaston, a crack on a fisherman’s head not being a serious affair—and then again, this one was as tough as a rudder-post and as full of spring as an oar—and then, more important still, the poor child with her hungry, tear-stained eyes had had trouble enough for one day, as we all knew. Later when Leà and I were alone, I told her the story, describing Gaston’s pluck and bravery and his risking his life to save Lemois—the dear old woman clasping her fingers together as if in church when I added that “he’d be all right in the morning after a good night’s rest.”
“Pray God nothing happens to him!” she said at last, crossing herself. “Mignon is only a child and it would break her heart. Monsieur Lemois does not wish it, and there is trouble—much trouble—ahead for her, but while there is life there is hope. He is a good Gaston—