"She was shut up at Chateau Bigot--hand of iron and lock of
steel--who knows the rest! But Voban was for always," he added
presently.
The thing was clear. The Scarlet Woman was Mathilde. So here was the
end of Voban's little romance--of the fine linen from Ste. Anne de
Beaupre and the silver pitcher for the wedding wine. I saw, or felt,
that in Voban I might find now a confederate, if I put my hard case
on Bigot's shoulders.
"I can't see why she stayed with Bigot," I said tentatively.
"Break the dog's leg, it can't go hunting bones--mais, non! Holy,
how stupid are you English!"
"Why doesn't the Intendant lock her up now? She's dangerous to
him. You remember what she said?"
"Tonnerre, you shall see to-morrow," he answered; "now all the sheep
go bleating with the bell. Bigot--Bigot--Bigot--there is nothing
but Bigot! But, pish! Vaudreuil the Governor is the great man, and
Montcalm, aho! son of Mahomet! You shall see. Now they dance to
Bigot's whistling; he will lock her safe enough to-morrow, 'less
some one steps in to help her. Before to-night she never spoke of
him before the world--but a poor daft thing, going about all sad
and wild. She missed her chance to-night--aho!"
"Why are you not with Montcalm's soldiers?" I asked. "You like
him better."
"I was with him, but my time was out, and I left him for Bigot.
Pish! I left him for Bigot, for the militia!" He raised his thumb
to his nose, and spread out his fingers. Again light dawned on me.
He was still with the Governor in all fact, though soldiering for
Bigot--a sort of watch upon the Intendant.
I saw my chance. If I could but induce this fellow to fetch me
Voban! There was yet an hour before I was to go to the intendance.
I called up what looks of candour were possible to me, and told
him bluntly that I wished Voban to bear a letter for me to the
Seigneur Duvarney's. At that he cocked his ear and shook his bushy
head, fiercely stroking his mustaches.
I knew that I should stake something if I said it was a letter for
Mademoiselle Duvarney, but I knew also that if he was still the
Governor's man in Bigot's pay he would understand the Seigneur's
relations with the Governor. And a woman in the case with a
soldier--that would count for something. So I said it was for her.
Besides, I had no other resource but to make a friend among my
enemies, if I could, while yet there was a chance.
It was like a load lifted from me when I saw his mouth and eyes open
wide in a big soundless laugh, which came to an end with a voiceless
aho! I gave him another tumbler of wine. Before he took it, he made
a wide mouth at me again, and slapped his leg. After drinking, he
said, "Poom--what good? They're going to hang you for a spy."
"That rope's not ready yet," I answered. "I'll tie a pretty knot
in another string first, I trust."
"Damned if you haven't spirit!" said he. "That Seigneur Duvarney,
I know him; and I know his son the ensign--whung, what saltpetre
is he! And the ma'm'selle--excellent, excellent; and a face, such
a face, and a seat like leeches in the saddle. And you a British
officer mewed up to kick your heels till gallows day! So droll,
my dear!"
"But will you fetch Voban?" I asked.
"To trim your hair against the supper to-night--eh, like that?"
As he spoke he puffed out his red cheeks with wide boylike eyes,
burst his lips in another soundless laugh, and laid a finger beside
his nose. His marvellous innocence of look and his peasant openness
hid, I saw, great shrewdness and intelligence--an admirable man for
Vaudreuil's purpose, as admirable for mine. I knew well that if I
had tried to bribe him he would have scouted me, or if I had made a
motion for escape he would have shot me off-hand. But a lady--that
appealed to him; and that she was the Seigneur Duvarney's daughter
did the rest.
"Yes, yes," said I, "one must be well appointed in soul and body
when one sups with his Excellency and Monsieur Doltaire."
"Limed inside and chalked outside," he retorted gleefully. "But
M'sieu' Doltaire needs no lime, for he has no soul. No, by Sainte
Helois! The good God didn't make him. The devil laughed, and that
laugh grew into M'sieu' Doltaire. But brave!--no kicking pulse is
in his body."
"You will send for Voban--now?" I asked softly.
He was leaning against the door as he spoke. He reached and put
the tumbler on a shelf, then turned and opened the door, his face
all altered to a grimness.
"Attend here, Labrouk!" he called; and on the soldier coming, he
blurted out in scorn, "Here's this English captain can't go to
supper without Voban's shears to snip him. Go fetch him, for I'd
rather hear a calf in a barn-yard than this whing-whanging for
'M'sieu' Voban!'"
He mocked my accent in the last two words, so that the soldier
grinned, and at once started away. Then he shut the door, and
turned to me again, and said more seriously, "How long have we
before Monsieur comes?"--meaning Doltaire.
"At least an hour," said I.
"Good," he rejoined, and then he smoked while I sat thinking.
It was near an hour before we heard footsteps outside; then came
a knock, and Voban was shown in.
"Quick, m'sieu'," he said. "M'sieu' is almost at our heels."
"This letter," said I, "to Mademoiselle Duvarney," and I handed
four: hers, and those to Governor Dinwiddie, to Mr. Washington,
and to my partner.
He quickly put them in his coat, nodding. The soldier--I have
not yet mentioned his name--Gabord, did not know that more than one
passed into Voban's hands.
"Off with your coat, m'sieu'," said Voban, whipping out his shears,
tossing his cap aside, and rolling down his apron. "M'sieu' is here."
I had off my coat, was in a chair in a twinkling, and he was
clipping softly at me as Doltaire's hand turned the handle of the
door.
"Beware--to-night!" Voban whispered.
"Come to me in the prison," said I. "Remember your brother!"
His lips twitched. "M'sieu', I will if I can." This he said in
my ear as Doltaire entered and came forward.
"Upon my life!" Doltaire broke out. "These English gallants! They go
to prison curled and musked by Voban. VOBAN--a name from the court
of the King, and it garnishes a barber. Who called you, Voban?"
"My mother, with the cure's help, m'sieu'."
Doltaire paused, with a pinch of snuff at his nose, and replied
lazily, "I did not say 'Who called you VOBAN?' Voban, but
who called you here, Voban?"
I spoke up testily then of purpose: "What would you have, monsieur?
The citadel has better butchers than barbers. I sent for him."
He shrugged his shoulders and came over to Voban. "Turn round,
my Voban," he said. "Voban--and such a figure! a knee, a back
like that!"
Then, while my heart stood still, he put forth a finger and
touched the barber on the chest. If he should touch the letters! I
was ready to seize them--but would that save them? Twice, thrice,
the finger prodded Voban's breast, as if to add an emphasis to his
words. "In Quebec you are misplaced, Monsieur le Voban. Once a wasp
got into a honeycomb and died."
I knew he was hinting at the barber's resentment of the poor
Mathilde's fate. Something strange and devilish leapt into the
man's eyes, and he broke out bitterly,
"A honey-bee got into a nest of wasps--and died."