“I know him for nothing but a wounded stranger who is patient and grateful.”
“And you think I am neither. I may prove to be both some day. To-morrow I arise from my bed, Mère Michelle, and that Dutchman yonder leaves the house.”
“Ta-ta-ta, but he is the very evil one, that M. Dupont,” Michelle confided to her husband the next day. “I am thankful, Louis, that you remain with us, else I know not what might happen here.”
Papa Louis swelled out his breast in conscious pride of his office as protector. “I remain, my wife, and you need have no fear; though Gerard and Pierre have departed, I remain.”
“I trust those two will return.”
“And why not?”
“There are signs and rumors and distresses; one cannot tell who is safe. If the French be ready to descend upon us we shall, ah, my husband! we shall again fall under the shadow of persecution.”
Papa Louis spread out his fingers and raised his hand as if to say, That flies away, that possibility. “For myself I am not anticipating that,” he said. “The good God who has brought us this far will not desert us.”
At this moment a white face and tottering form appeared from behind the curtain at the other side of the room. “Monsieur, you are defying Providence!” cried Michelle.
“I said I would arise, and I keep my word. Give me your shoulder, good Papa Mercier, and I will get to that seat by the door. Mon Dieu! but it is good to see the sunshine again. Ho, there, lubber, I am up before you!”