“Then you are a child of the Evil One,” returned Jeanne.
“Softly, softly, my good sir or madam. May I ask your name in return and how it is that you are so well acquainted with the family of Monsieur le Diable? since the putting of double questions seems to be the fashion in these parts.”
“I am Jeanne Crepin.”
“Ah, yes, to be sure.” He spoke as if searching his memory for a lost recollection. “I remember, I remember. Your brother was a friend of mine. Father Bisset has perhaps mentioned me to you. No, I have it, I have it. I recognize you now, madam; it was you whom I saw during our little skirmish over in the English colony of New York, as they call it now. I remember. So, so.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? It is not I who can do at all; you perceive that I am a passive fact. I think, however, that it would be as well if we were to get on. I would doff my hat to you, madam, did I wear one. As it is, take my adieux in such courteous manner as may be best suited to the occasion, and consider that I have made my best obeisance. Advance, Ricard.”
Jeanne took up the line of march with the others. “Where do you carry him?” she asked.
“To the Indian village beyond.”
“Why does he go there?”
Ricard looked at her with a sidelong glance. “You would have to know him to guess why. I never knew stronger will in weaker body. How he has made this journey is past telling. He goes because he has heard that the young Dutchman is there.”