wine. Before he took it, he made a
wide mouth at me again, and slapped his leg. After drinking, he said,
"Poom--what good? They're going to hang you for a spy."

"That rope's not ready yet," I answered. "I'll tie a pretty knot in
another string first, I trust."

"Damned if you haven't spirit!" said he. "That Seigneur Duvarney, I know
him; and I know his son the ensign--whung, what saltpetre is he! And the
ma'm'selle--excellent, excellent; and a face, such a face, and a seat
like leeches in the saddle. And you a British officer mewed up to kick
your heels till gallows day! So droll, my dear!"

"But will you fetch Voban?" I asked.

"To trim your hair against the supper to-night--eh, like that?"

As he spoke he puffed out his red cheeks with wide boylike eyes, burst
his lips in another soundless laugh, and laid a finger beside his nose.
His marvellous innocence of look and his peasant openness hid, I saw,
great shrewdness and intelligence--an admirable man for Vaudreuil's
purpose, as admirable for mine. I knew well that if I had tried to bribe
him he would have scouted me, or if I had made a motion for escape he
would have shot me off-hand. But a lady--that appealed to him; and that
she was the Seigneur Duvarney's daughter did the rest.

"Yes, yes," said I, "one must be well appointed in soul and body when
one sups with his Excellency and Monsieur Doltaire."

"Limed inside and chalked outside," he retorted gleefully. "But M'sieu'
Doltaire needs no lime, for he has no soul. No, by Sainte Helois! The
good God didn't make him. The devil laughed, and that laugh grew into
M'sieu' Doltaire. But brave!--no kicking pulse is in his body."

"You will send for Voban--now?" I asked softly.

He was leaning against the door as he spoke. He reached and put the
tumbler on a shelf, then turned and opened the door, his face all
altered to a grimness.

"Attend here, Labrouk!" he called; and on the soldier coming, he blurted
out in scorn, "Here's this English captain can't go to supper without
Voban's shears to snip him. Go fetch him, for I'd rather hear a calf in
a barn-yard than this whing-whanging for 'M'sieu' Voban!'"

He mocked my accent in the last two words, so that the soldier grinned,
and at once started away. Then he shut the door, and turned to me
again, and said more seriously, "How long have we before Monsieur
comes?"--meaning Doltaire.

"At least an hour," said I.

"Good," he rejoined, and then he smoked while I