“But it did not come out as you wished?” hinted I.
“It served my turn,” he responded; and he gave me such a smiling, malicious look that I knew sought to convey he had his way with Alixe; and though I felt that she was true to me, his cool presumption so stirred me I could have struck him in the face. I got angrily to my feet, but as I did so I shrank a little, for at times the wound in my side, not yet entirely healed, hurt me.
“You are not well,” he said, with instant show of curiosity; “your wounds still trouble you? They should be healed. Gabord was ordered to see you cared for.”
“Gabord has done well enough,” answered I. “I have had wounds before, monsieur.”
He leaned against the wall and laughed. “What braggarts you English are!” he said. “A race of swashbucklers--even on bread and water!”
He had me at advantage, and I knew it, for he had kept his temper. I made an effort. “Both excellent,” rejoined I, “and English too.”
He laughed again. “Come, that is better. That’s in your old vein. I love to see you so. But how knew you our baker was English?--which he is, a prisoner like yourself.”
“As easily as I could tell the water was not made by Frenchmen.”
“Now I have 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?”
“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.
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.
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.