“You think you can do without Picault!” he laughed frankly.

“Let me pass, sir!” said Haviland, unwilling to put up with any nonsense.

“To take up the promissory notes of your friend?”

“Do you think sir, that I use your inventions?  Let me pass, I tell you,” and he rose with his whip.

“I have seen the cards, Haviland; take the game; let us be partners; what is the use of dissembling in this extraordinary manner?”

A flash of the whip,—­a leap of the two animals,—­Picault careening into the ditch, and Chamilly flying into Misericorde.

CHAPTER XL.

HAVILAND REFUSES

“Nobleness still makes us proud”

—­FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT

The election was Haviland’s.

A great crowd gathered into Dormilliere at the close of that long day, thickening and pouring in from the country around, and arriving by boats across the river, to hear the returns:  and as Zotique read them in triumph from a chair at the door of the Circuit Court, and the issue, at first breathlessly uncertain, finally appeared, the cheering became frantic.  Chamilly himself came out to them, an incomprehensible, determined aspect on his face, and amid deafening hurrahs, was seized and hurried on their shoulders across the square to the crier’s rostrum, where he stood up before them.

And then and there took place the most unheard of incident, the most remarkable outcome of Haviland’s lofty character, of which there as yet was record.

His voice can be heard distinct and clear over a perfect hush.  What does he say? tell me,—­have we really caught it correctly?  Fact unique in political history; he was refusing the election on account of the frauds!

“Grandmoulin,”—­was Picault’s subsequent remark, “The young fool has courage.  What a deep game he is playing.  I tell you he has more talent than the whole of our side together except yourself—­curse him.”

“It demonstrates the unpractically of his methods!” said the burly Montreal politician to Zotique, with self-satisfied disgust.

“No,” returned Zotique, firmly, “If we had followed his methods it would have been far better.  But nothing can make up for lack of intelligence:  Sacre bleu.  I ought to have had a better head than to leave these people to such as Cuiller and Benoit!”

Chamilly addressed firm words to the disappointed electorate:  “I seek not my own cause, friends.  It is yours in which I do this thing and do you, too, give all for country’s honor.  Lose not heart.  Work on, like iron figures, receiving blows without feeling them.  Be we young in our strength and hope, as Truth our mistress is perennial.  Accept from me who according to the rule of faint hearts ought to be most crushed by our failure, the motto, “Encouraged by disaster!”

CHAPTER XLI.