“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.