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One evening of his first week at Hillsborough that term, Darrel came to sit with him a while. "An' what are these?" said the tinker, at length, his hand upon the shot and iron. "I do not know." "Dear boy," said Darrel, "they're from the kit of a burglar, an' how came they here?" "I took them from Louis Leblanc," said the young man, who then told of his adventure that night.
A pleasant evening was passed, and then the chums trooped off to bed, Fernald sharing the big room with them. "Just think, while we are sleeping, LeBlanc and his outlaws will be coming across the border with their cargo of furs," said Dick, as they prepared for bed. "And we don't get any excitement now till the night after tomorrow. It will seem an age, the waiting."
Why don't you speak?" impatiently demanded the duke. "Mille pardons. Monseigneur; but madame has gone," sadly replied Leblanc. "What do you say?" exclaimed the duke, discrediting the evidence of his own ears. "Mille pardons, Monsieur le Duc, Madame la Duchesse has gone." "Gone! the duchess gone!" exclaimed the duke, in amazement, not unmixed with incredulity. "Oui; Monseigneur."
"Ha," exclaimed Jean LeBlanc, "that is P'tit Vareau. I don't like him, and he shall not come in with us on this big scheme. Tomorrow night I shall discuss it with you at our friend M'sieu Henderson's place. Now, you may let him in, but not a word of anything other than about the furs." Vareau made his entrance, and there was some desultory conversation, and then all of them left the room.
Bridge, M. Leblanc Mr. White, M. Lenoir Mr. Black, Leroy, King, and so on. Poussette was, to his credit, among those who gauged Le Caron's sentiments fairly correctly, and he had no wish either to leave his country or to change his name. Succeed he would and did; make money above all, but make it just as well in St.
"Sometime today, LeBlanc and Green, with the other two men, whose names I do not know, will cross the border, for they are due to return tonight with furs. Dick, Phil and I will estimate as near as we can the point on the line at the back of Green's farm. Then we will take positions about a sixteenth of a mile apart, perhaps a little more.
Father Piret was a Parisian, and a gentleman; nothing less would suit these far-away sheep in the wilderness! Jeannette Leblanc had all the pride of her class; the Irish saloon-keeper with his shining tall hat, the loud-talking mate of the lake schooner, the trim sentinel pacing the fort walls, were nothing to her, and this somewhat incongruous hauteur gave her the air of a little princess.
He thought it strange that they made no remark about the deserted logging camp, for Phil was certain that this was the headquarters, or at least a rendezvous, of the smuggling band. Phil had wondered that he had seen or heard nothing of Anderson, for he expected wherever LeBlanc would be, the other would be found also.
Impressed solely with the child's gown and the old man's hair, he had dubbed the daughter Mademoiselle Lanoire, and the father, Monsieur Leblanc, so that as no one knew them under any other title, this nickname became a law in the default of any other name. The students said: "Ah! Monsieur Leblanc is on his bench."
M. Leblanc had written the whole of this. Thenardier resumed: "Ah! erase 'come with confidence'; that might lead her to suppose that everything was not as it should be, and that distrust is possible." M. Leblanc erased the three words. "Now," pursued Thenardier, "sign it. What's your name?" The prisoner laid down the pen and demanded: "For whom is this letter?"
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