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Jeanne essayed some French songs, but her heart was not light enough. Then they lapsed into silence. On and on there was no wind and they were out of the strongest current, so there was no danger. What was Owaissa doing, thinking? Had Louis Marsac returned with the priest? Was it true she had come to kill her, Jeanne? How strange one should love a man so deeply, strongly! She shuddered.
I muttered, 'Good evening, mademoiselle, and that was all I could say I who had frightened the burly Maignan a few minutes before! Seeing, I have no doubt, the effect she produced on me, she maintained for some time an embarrassing silence. At length she said, frigidly, 'Perhaps M. de Marsac will sit, Fanchette. Place a chair for him.
'What are you going to do, then, Simon? I asked, noting these changes curiously. 'I am a soldier, he answered, 'and follow M. de Marsac. I laughed. 'You have chosen a poor service, I am afraid, I said, beginning to rise; 'and one, too, Simon, in which it is possible you may be killed. I thought that would not suit you, I continued, to see what he would say.
In a kind of vision I seemed to see my own lean, haggard face looking at me as in a glass, and, reading despair in my eyes, could have pitied myself. My disorder was so great that M. du Mornay observed it. Looking more closely at me, he two or three times muttered my name, and at last said, 'M. de Marsac? Ha! I remember. You were in the affair of Brouage, were you not?
"And is the little girl his sister?" "O no, not in anyway related." Then Laurent told the story, guessing at the kiss from the blow that had followed. "Good, I like that," declared St. Armand. "Whose child is it?" "That I do not know, but she lives up near the Citadel and her name is Jeanne Angelot. Shall I find her for you to-morrow?" "She is a brave little girl." "I do not like Marsac."
"Because the priests made us weak with their religion, made women of us, called us to their mumbling prayers instead of fighting our enemies! They and the English gave us their fire water to drink and stole away our senses! And now they are both going to be driven out by these pigs of Americans. It serves them right." "And what will you do, Monsieur Marsac?" asked Pani with innocent irony.
'Begone, and do your worst. 'You know what you are doing, he said. 'I have that will hang you, M. de Marsac or worse. 'Go! I cried. 'You have thought of your friends, he continued mockingly. 'Go! I said. 'Of Mademoiselle de la Vire, if by any chance she fall into my hands? It will not be hanging for her. You remember the two Foucauds? and he laughed.
People who knew the value of a growing property, said that the vineyard at Marsac was worth more than eighty thousand francs, to say nothing of the traditional bits of land which old Sechard used to buy as they came into the market, for old Sechard had savings he was lucky with his vintages, and a clever salesman.
He is that handsome half or quarter breed, Louis Marsac, a shrewd trader for one so young, and who, with his father, is delving in the copper mines of Lake Superior. Yes. What went before, child?" She was glad to leave Marsac. Could she tell her story without incriminating him? The first part went smoothly enough. Then she hesitated and felt her color rising. "It was at Bois Blanc," she said.
'For your own sake, not mine. This is fine talking, but you have not yet heard all I know. Would you like to hear how you have spent the last month? Two days after Christmas, M. de Marsac, you left Chize with a young lady I can give you her name, if you please. Four days afterwards you reached Blois, and took her to your mother's lodging. Next morning she left you for M. de Bruhl.
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