hope of you," he broke out gaily; "you will yet redeem your
nation."
At that moment Gabord came with a message from the Governor to Doltaire,
and he prepared to go.
"You are set on sacrifice?" he asked. "Think--dangling from Cape
Diamond!"
"I will meditate on your fate instead," I replied.
"Think!" he said again, waving off my answer with his hand. "The letters
I shall no more ask for; and you will not escape death?"
"Never by that way," rejoined I.
"So. Very good. Au plaisir, my captain. I go to dine at the Seigneur
Duvarney's."
With that last thrust he was gone, and left me wondering if the Seigneur
had ever made an effort to see me, if he had forgiven the duel with his
son.
That was the incident.
* * * * *
When Gabord and Voban were gone, leaving the light behind, I went over
to where the torch stuck in the wall, and drew Alixe's letter from my
pocket with eager fingers. It told the whole story of her heart.
CHATEAU ST. LOUIS, 27th November, 1757.
Though I write you these few words, dear Robert, I do not know that they
will reach you, for as yet it is not certain they will let Voban visit
you. A year, dear friend, and not a word from you! I should have broken
my heart if I had not heard of you one way and another. They say you
are much worn in body, though you have always a cheerful air. There are
stories of a visit Monsieur Doltaire paid you, and how you jested. He
hates you, and yet he admires you too.
And now listen, Robert, and I beg you not to be angry--oh, do not
be angry, for I am all yours; but I want to tell you that I have not
repulsed Monsieur Doltaire when he has spoken flatteries to me. I have
not believed them, and I have kept my spirits strong against the evil
in him. I want to get you free of prison, and to that end I have to work
through him with the Intendant, that he will not set the Governor more
against you. With the Intendant himself I will not deal at all. So I use
the lesser villain, and in truth the more powerful, for he stands higher
at Versailles than any here. With the Governor I have influence, for he
is, as you know, a kinsman of my mother's, and of late he has shown a
fondness for me. Yet you can see that I must act most warily, that I
must not seem to care for you, for that would be your complete undoing.
I rather seem to scoff. (Oh, how it hurts me! how my cheeks tingle when
I think of it alone! and how I clench my hands, hating them all for
opp
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