Michelle, slowly stirring a cup of broth, listened, but was not convinced by his plausible tale. “You have been too near to death, monsieur,” she said, “and you should not lie to me.”
“Mon Dieu! and do I lie? I lie on this good bed far too long. When do I arise, Mother Michelle?”
“Not for some days.”
“And monsieur, the Dutch ox?”
“M. Verplanck will arise to-day and will soon be on his way home.”
The eyes of François shone with satisfaction. “Pray God we have a chance to meet on other than neutral ground. Pig that he is! I would fain have a good sword-arm to use when we do meet.”
“Why do you not strive to love your enemies, monsieur?” said Michelle, with unmoved gravity.
“Strive? I do not strive for such sorry results. He is your enemy as well as mine. Do you love him?”
“I am not averse to him; he seems a well-disposed and amiable young man.”
“Who will go hence and do you a harm when he gets a chance. Do you not know him for an aider and abettor of King James’s minions,—a Jacobite?”