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Updated: June 2, 2025
Then the Governor understood: he remembered that the name just given by the Sheriff and himself was the name of the Englishman who had carried off Grassette's wife years ago. He stepped forwards and was about to speak, but changed his mind. He would leave it all to Grassette; he would not let the Sheriff know the truth, unless Grassette himself disclosed the situation.
"No; two warders will go with you and myself." A strange look passed over Grassette's face. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he said again: "Bon, I will go." "Then there is, of course, the doctor," said the Sheriff. "Bon!" said Grassette. "What time is it?" "Twelve o'clock," answered the Sheriff, and made a motion to the warder to open the door of the cell. "By sundown!"
"I have come," said the Governor, "to say to you, Grassette, that you still have a chance of life." He paused, and Grassette's face took on a look of bewilderment and vague anxiety. A chance of life what did it mean? "Reprieve?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. The Governor shook his head. "Not yet; but there is a chance. Something has happened.
"His Honour, the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Henri Robitaille, has come to speak with you.... Stand up," the Sheriff added sharply, as Grassette kept his seat. Grassette's face flushed with anger, for the prison had not broken his spirits; then he got up slowly. "I not stand up for you," he growled at the Sheriff; "I stand up for him." He jerked his head towards Sir Henri Robitaille.
The last three words were uttered in the old slave-driving tone, though the earlier part of the speech had been delivered oracularly, and had brought again to Grassette's eyes the reddish, sullen look which had made them, a little while before, like those of some wounded, angered animal at bay; but it vanished slowly, and there was silence for a moment.
"It was my sister's son you killed, Grassette," said the Governor in a low, strained voice. "Nom de Dieu!" said Grassette hoarsely. "I did not know, Grassette," the Governor went on "I did not know it was you." "Why did you come, m'sieu'?" "Call him 'your Honour," said the Sheriff sharply. Grassette's face hardened, and his look turned upon the Sheriff was savage and forbidding.
Where was Marcile? Only Bignold knew. Alive or dead? Only Bignold knew. "Bien, I will do it, m'sieu'," he said to the Governor. "I am to go alone eh?" The Sheriff shook his head. "No, two warders will go with you and myself." A strange look passed over Grassette's face. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he said again: "Bon, I will go."
"Hold you does he need a Sheriff to tell him when to spik?" was Grassette's surly comment. Then he turned to the Governor. "Let us speak in French," he said in patois. "This rope-twister will not understan'. He is no good I spit at him." The Governor nodded, and, despite the Sheriff's protest, they spoke in French, Grassette with his eyes intently fixed on the other, eagerly listening.
The last three words were uttered in the old slave-driving tone, though the earlier part of the speech had been delivered oracularly, and had brought again to Grassette's eyes the reddish, sullen look which had made them, a little while before, like those of some wounded, angered animal at bay; but it vanished slowly, and there was silence for a moment.
The Governor turned his head away in pain and trouble, for the man's rage was not a thing to see and they both came from the little parish of St. Francis, and had passed many an hour together. "Never mind, Grassette," he said gently. "Call me what you will. You've got no feeling against me; and I can say with truth that I don't want your life for the life you took." Grassette's breast heaved.
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