At Fault Read Online Free Page A

the
acceptable arrangement which assured him the daily society of Thérèse,
whose presence was growing into a need with him.

V - In the Pine Woods
*
    When Grégoire said to Melicent that there was no better woman in the
world than his Aunt Thérèse, "W'en you do like she wants," the
statement was so incomplete as to leave one in uncomfortable doubt of
the expediency of venturing within the influence of so exacting a
nature. True, Thérèse required certain conduct from others, but she
was willing to further its accomplishment by personal efforts, even
sacrifices—that could leave no doubt of the pure unselfishness of her
motive. There was hardly a soul at Place-du-Bois who had not felt the
force of her will and yielded to its gentle influence.
    The picture of Joçint as she had last seen him, stayed with her, till
it gave form to a troubled desire moving her to see him again and
speak with him. He had always been an unruly subject, inclined to a
surreptitious defiance of authority. Repeatedly had he been given work
on the plantation and as many times dismissed for various causes.
Thérèse would have long since removed him had it not been for his old
father Morico, whose long life spent on the place had established a
claim upon her tolerance.
    In the late afternoon, when the shadows of the magnolias were
stretching in grotesque lengths across the lawn, Thérèse stood waiting
for Uncle Hiram to bring her sleek bay Beauregard around to the front.
The dark close fitting habit which she wore lent brilliancy to her
soft blonde coloring; and there was no mark of years about her face or
figure, save the settling of a thoughtful shadow upon the eyes, which
joys and sorrows that were past and gone had left there.
    As she rode by the cottage, Melicent came out on the porch to wave a
laughing good-bye. The girl was engaged in effacing the simplicity of
her rooms with certain bizarre decorations that seemed the promptings
of a disordered imagination. Yards of fantastic calico had been
brought up from the store, which Grégoire with hammer and tacks was
amiably forming into impossible designs at the prompting of the girl.
The little darkies had been enlisted to bring their contributions of
palm branches, pine cones, ferns, and bright hued bird wings—and a
row of those small recruits stood on the porch, gaping in wide-mouthed
admiration at a sight that stirred within their breasts such remnant
of savage instinct as past generations had left there in dormant
survival.
    One of the small audience permitted her attention to be drawn for a
moment from the gorgeous in-door spectacle, to follow the movements of
her mistress.
    "Jis' look Miss T'rèse how she go a lopin' down de lane. Dere she
go—dere she go—now she gone," and she again became contemplative.
    Thérèse, after crossing the railroad, for a space kept to the brow of
the hill where stretched a well defined road, which by almost
imperceptible degrees led deeper and always higher into the woods.
Presently, leaving this road and turning into a bridle path where an
unpracticed eye would have discovered no sign of travel, she rode on
until reaching a small clearing among the pines, in the center of
which stood a very old and weather beaten cabin.
    Here she dismounted, before Morico knew of her presence, for he sat
with his back partly turned to the open door. As she entered and
greeted him, he arose from his chair, all trembling with excitement at
her visit; the long white locks, straggling and unkept, falling about
his brown visage that had grown old and weather beaten with his cabin.
Sinking down into his seat—the hide covered chair that had been worn
smooth by years of usefulness—he gazed well pleased at Thérèse, who
seated herself beside him.
    "Ah, this is quite the handsomest you have made yet, Morico," she said
addressing him in French, and taking up the fan that he was curiously
fashioning of turkey feathers.
    "I am taking extra pains with it," he answered, looking