"I have that
which will keep for me the place in Parliament that has been mine; which
will send him back to the isolation whence he came. Do you think I don't
know how to win an election? Why from east to west, from north to south
in this Province of Quebec my name, my fame, have been all-conquering.
Suppose he did defeat me, do you think that would end my political life?
It would end nothing. I should still go on."
A scornful smile came to her lips. "So you think your party would find a
seat for you who had been defeated by a young man who never knew what
political life meant till he came to this campaign? You think they would
find you a seat? I know you are coming to the end of your game, and when
he defeats you, it will finish everything for you. You will disappear
from public life, and your day will be done. Men will point at you as
you pass along the street, and say: 'There goes Barode Barouche. He was
a great man in his day. He was defeated by a boy with a painter's brush
in his hand.' He will take from you your livelihood. You will go, and
he will stay; he will conquer and grow strong. Go from me, Barode
Barouche," she cried, thrusting out her hands against him, "go from me.
I love my son with all my soul. His father has no place in my heart."
There had been upon him the wild passion of revenge. It had mastered
him before she spoke, and while she spoke, but, as she finished, the
understanding spirit of him conquered.
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