"
Armand learns his cousin's life in California. He imparts to the
Colonel, now joyous over his "becassine aux truffes" and Chambertin,
the meagre details he has of the death of the man who fell in the
intoxicating hour of victory on fierce Hood's fiercest field.
Colonel Joe Woods drains his glass in silence.
"My boy," he suddenly says, "Valois left an enormous estate; don't
you come in anywhere?"
"I never knew of his will," replies Armand. "I want you, Colonel,
to meet my old friend Pere Francois, who was the priest at
this Lagunitas. He tells me, a Judge Hardin has charge of all the
property."
Joe Woods drops the knife with which he is cutting the tip of his
imperial cigar.
"By Heavens! If that old wolf has got his claws on it, it's a long
fight. I'll see your Padre. I knew him. Now, my boy," says Colonel
Joe, "I've got no wife, and no children," he adds proudly.
"I'll take you over to California with me, and we'll see old Hardin.
I'm no lawyer, but you ought to hear of the whole details. We'll
round him up. Let's go up to my room and look at your picture."
Throwing the waiter a douceur worthy of his financial grade, the
new friends retire to the Colonel's rooms.
Here the spoils of the jeweler, the atelier, and studio, are
strangely mingled.
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