hold some leagues of barren land for his
petticoat-ridden majesty at Versailles. Oh, why not say it? We can
tell the truth here without losing our heads."

"The king's arm"--I began.

"Is long," he interrupted. "Yet, in truth, your face is longer. Are
you so eager to be gone? Well, get you to the prisoner, and, my hand
on it, I shall ask for nothing more."

CHAPTER III

BEHIND THE COMMANDANT'S DOOR

The commandant's door had come to be the portal through which I stepped
from safety into meddling. Yet I opened it now with laughter peeping
from my sleeve. To bait the Englishman in Huron seemed a good-natured
enough jest, and full of possibilities.

But one look at the prisoner drained my laughter. He was lying on a
bench, his face hidden in his out-flung arms, and his slenderness and
helplessness pulled at me hard. I knew that despair, and even tears,
must have conquered now that he was alone, and I wished that I might
save his pride, and slip away until he had fought back his bravery, and
had himself in hand.

But he had heard my step, and drew himself up to face me. He turned
with composure, and fronted me with so much dignity that I stood like a
blundering oaf trapped by my own emotion. There was no emotion in his
look. He had been thinking, not despairing, and his face was sharpened
and lighted with such concentration that I felt slapped with cold
steel. He looked all intellect and determination,--a thing of
will-power rather than flesh and brawn.

My Huron speech seemed out of place, but there was no choice left me,
so I used it. There was refuge for my dignity in the sonorous
syllables, and I spoke as to a fellow sachem. Then I asked the
prisoner his name, and waited for response.

None came. I knew that I had spoken rapidly, so I tried again. I
chose short words, and framed my sentences like a schoolmaster. The
prisoner listened negligently. Then he put out his hand. "Pardon,
monsieur. But I speak French,--though indifferently," he said, with a
slight shrug.

My anger made my ears buzz; I would not bandy words with a man of so
small and sly a spirit. I turned to leave.

But the prisoner stepped between me and the door. "You were sent here
with a message," he said; "I am listening."

His sunken brown eyes were so deep in melancholy that I could not hold
my wrath. "Was it a gentleman's part to lead me on to play the clown?"
I asked. "I came in kindness."

He smiled a l