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"At times, yes," said Father Beret, who had no birth-mark on his shoulder, and had never had one there, or on any other part of his person. "How strange!" Alice remarked, "I, too, have a mark on my shoulder a pink spot, just like a small, five-petaled flower. We must be of kin to each other, Father Beret." The priest laughed.
The young man's eyes and mouth at once began to have a sullen expression; evidently he was not pleased and felt rebellious; but it was hard for him to resist Father Beret, whom he loved, as did every soul in the post. The priest's voice was sweet and gentle, yet positive to a degree. Rene did not say a word.
There was a moment of breathless suspense, and then Mildrid whispered back: "Yes" and began to cry again. Beret drew down her arms once more; she wanted to see her face. "Why did you not tell me about it, Mildrid?" she asked, with the same fierce eagerness. "Beret, I didn't know it myself. I never saw him till yesterday.
And the child's heart swelled, imagining all this to herself, swelled with pride and with devotion to those dear parents who had suffered so much. These were the first thoughts that she did not confide to Beret. Soon there were more.
Not that he at all times stood too much on his aristocratic traditions, or lacked the virile traits common to vigorous and worldly-minded men; but the contrast between Alice and the other girls present was somehow an absolute bar to a democratic freedom of the sort demanded by the occasion. He met Father Beret and passed a few pleasant words with him.
He would almost certainly be killed and scalped, or captured and brought back to be shot or hanged in Vincennes. The thought chilled and curdled her blood. Both Helm and Father Beret tried to encourage and comfort her by representing the probabilities in the fairest light.
We need not wonder, then, when we are told that Father Beret made no sign of distress or disapproval upon being informed of the arrival of a boat loaded with rum, brandy or gin. It was Rene de Ronville who brought the news, the same Rene already mentioned as having given the priest a plate of squirrels.
"Go to Father Beret, tell him everything, and then ask him what he thinks," she said in a calm, even tone, her face growing serious. There was an awkward silence. She had touched Rene's vulnerable spot; he was nothing if not a devout Catholic, and his conscience rooted itself in what good Father Beret had taught him.
He was as much self-deceived as was she, and he made more noise about it. "It is you who have misunderstood me," she replied, smiling brightly now, but with just a faint, pitiful touch of regret, or self-blame lingering in her voice. "Father Beret said you would. I did not believe him; but " "And you shall not believe him," said Beverley. "I have not misunderstood you. There has been nothing.
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