“Well, as we had nothing to conceal from one another, I told him of my little commercial plans, and asked him, when any good jobs presented themselves, to think of his judicial comrade; and I’ve had no cause to complain of him.”
“Ah!” said Jacques, “and what has he done?”
“Why, first, two years ago, he himself brought, me, on horseback behind him, his niece that thou’st seen out there.”
“His niece!” cried Jacques, rising; “and thou treat’st her like a slave! Demonio!”
“Drink,” said Houmain, quietly stirring the brazier with his poniard; “he himself desired it should be so. Sit down.”
Jacques did so.
“I don’t think,” continued the smuggler, “that he’d even be sorry to know that she was—dost understand?—to hear she was under the snow rather than above it; but he would not put her there himself, because he’s a good relative, as he himself said.”
“And as I know,” said Jacques; “but go on.”
“Thou mayst suppose that a man like him, who lives at court, does not like to have a mad niece in his house. The thing is self-evident; if I’d continued to play my part of the man of the robe, I should have done the same in a similar case. But here, as you perceive, we don’t care much for appearances; and I’ve taken her for a servant. She has shown more good sense than I expected, although she has rarely ever spoken more than a single word, and at first came the delicate over us. Now she rubs down a mule like a groom. She has had a slight fever for the last few days; but ‘twill pass off one way or the other. But, I say, don’t tell Laubardemont that she still lives; he’d think ‘twas for the sake of economy I’ve kept her for a servant.”
“How! is he here?” cried Jacques.