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Have you forgotten God, Grassette? We used to remember Him in the Church of St. Francis down there at home." There was a moment's silence, in which Grassette's head was thrust forwards, his eyes staring into space. The old Seigneur had touched a vulnerable corner in his nature. Presently he said in a low voice: "To be free altogether.... What is his name? Who is he?"
Never had a prisoner been more self-contained, or rejected more completely all those ministrations of humanity which relieve the horrible isolation of the condemned cell. Grassette's isolation was complete.
"His Honor, 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 spirit; 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 toward 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.
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.
"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.
"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 Honor," said the Sheriff, sharply. Grassette's face hardened, and his look, turned upon the Sheriff, was savage and forbidding.
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.
"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.
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