The Grey Cloak - Page 125/256

"I do not know but you are right."

"Shall you remain here long?" asked the Chevalier.

"Who can say? I would return to France on the next boat were my neck

less delicately attached to my shoulders. Let us say six months; it

will have quieted down by then. Devil take me, but I should like to

feel that paper crackling between my fingers. And you meet

D'Hérouville in two days?"

"In two days."

"Will you not join me in a glass of the governor's old burgundy as a

toast to your success?"

"Thank you, but I am on duty. They are bringing some Mohawks up from

the lower town, and I am to take charge of them."

"Good luck to you;" and the vicomte waved a friendly hand as he started

off toward the citadel.

The Chevalier with a dozen men started for the lower town. But his

mind was not on his duty. He was thinking of Diane, her gay laughter,

her rollicking songs, the old days.

"Monsieur, are we to go to Sillery?" asked a trooper, respectfully.

"Sillery?" The Chevalier shook himself, and took the right path.

The Chevalier and Victor sat on their narrow cots that night. Brother

Jacques had just gone. The windows were open, and the balmy air of

summer drifted in, carrying with it forest odors and the freshness of

the rising dew. Fireflies sparkled in the grass, and the pale stars of

early evening pierced the delicate green of the heavens. A single

candle flickered on the table, and the candlestick was an empty

burgundy bottle. The call of one sentry to another broke the solemn

quiet.

"And you have not grown sick for home since you left the sea?" asked

the Chevalier.

"Not I!" There were times when Victor could lie cheerfully and without

the prick of conscience. "One hasn't time to think of home. But how

are you getting on with your Iroquois?"

"Fairly."

"You are determined to meet D'Hérouville?"

The Chevalier extended his right arm, allowing Victor to press it with

his fingers. Victor whistled softly. The arm, while thin, was like a

staff of oak. Presently the same arm reached out and snuffed the

candle.

"Shall you ever go back to France, Paul?"

A sigh from the other side of the room.

"I saw the vicomte talking to De Leviston to-day. De Leviston was

scowling. They separated when I approached."

"Will you have the goodness to go to sleep?"

"What the devil brings De Leviston so high on this side the water?"

Silence.

"I never liked his sneaking face."

A sentry called, another, and still another.

"Are you there, Paul?"

No answer.

"You're as surly as a papoose!"

Soon after that there was nothing to be heard but the deep and regular

breathing of two healthy men resting in sleep.