"Voban," urged I, "Voban may come to me?"
"The Intendant said no, but the Governor yes," was the reply;
"and that M'sieu' Doltaire is not yet come back from Montreal,
so he had no voice. They look for him here to-morrow."
"Voban may come?" I asked again.
"At daybreak Voban--aho!" he continued. "There's milk and honey
to-morrow," he added, and then, without a word, he drew forth from
his coat, and hurriedly thrust into my hands, a piece of meat and a
small flask of wine, and, swinging round like a schoolboy afraid of
being caught in a misdemeanor, he passed through the door and the
bolts clanged after him. He left the torch behind him, stuck in the
cleft of the wall.
I sat down on my couch, and for a moment gazed almost vacantly
at the meat and wine in my hands. I had not touched either for a
year, and now I could see that my fingers, as they closed on the
food nervously, were thin and bloodless, and I realized that my
clothes hung loose upon my person. Here were light, meat, and wine,
and there was a piece of bread on the board covering my water-jar.
Luxury was spread before me, but although I had eaten little all
day I was not hungry. Presently, however, I took the knife which I
had hidden a year before, and cut pieces of the meat and laid them
by the bread. Then I drew the cork from the bottle of wine, and,
lifting it towards that face which was always visible to my soul,
I drank--drank--drank!
The rich liquor swam through my veins like glorious fire. It
wakened my brain and nerved my body. The old spring of life
came back. This wine had come from the hands of Alixe--from the
Governor's store, maybe; for never could Gabord have got such
stuff. I ate heartily of the rich beef and bread with a new-made
appetite, and drank the rest of the wine. When I had eaten and
drunk the last, I sat and looked at the glowing torch, and felt
a sort of comfort creep through me. Then there came a delightful
thought. Months ago I had put away one last pipeful of tobacco, to
save it till some day when I should need it most. I got it, and
no man can guess how lovingly I held it to a flying flame of the
torch, saw it light, and blew out the first whiff of smoke into the
sombre air; for November was again piercing this underground house
of mine, another winter was at hand. I sat and smoked, and--can you
not guess my thoughts? For have you all not the same hearts, being
British born and bred? When I had taken the last whiff, I wrapped
myself in my cloak and went to sleep. But twice or thrice during
the night I waked to see the torch still shining, and caught the
fragrance of consuming pine, and minded not at all the smoke the
burning made.