He turned toward the bed occupied by Lendert, and Papa Louis chuckled at his sudden change of expression. “Whom do you address, M. Dupont? Is it perhaps M. Verplanck? He has been sitting outside the door this half-hour.”
François ground his teeth. “The pig! How did he manage it?”
“You were asleep and we helped him quietly to dress. You would best sit here, monsieur.”
“No, nearer, where I can look out. Ah-h, I see why that other sits there outside; that he may the better converse alone with mademoiselle. I will be watch-dog, Papa Mercier. You do not guard your daughter any too well.”
“She needs no overlooking,” spoke up Michelle, sharply, “and it is not M. Verplanck from whom she must be guarded.”
François laughed mockingly. “We will prove the truth of that later on.” He dropped trembling into his chair and gazed out upon the autumn landscape showing that haziness peculiar to the season. Under a large tree were two figures: Lendert Verplanck and Alaine. The girl with her hands folded before her was talking earnestly to the young man, with once in a while a toss of her head toward the house.
“They speak of me, no doubt,” said François.
“You are egotist, monsieur,” laughed Papa Louis as he was about to leave the room.
François called him back and motioned to a chair opposite. “Sit there, M. Mercier,” he said. “I have said to Madame Mercier that I may yet be able to prove myself a grateful, if I have not been a welcome, guest. I see that mademoiselle has finished her conversation with M. Verplanck. We are alone?” He glanced around the room. Mère Michelle had gone out of the back door to attend to her dairy. No one was in sight. François leaned forward. “M. Mercier, you who are a friend of Jacob Leisler’s cannot be a friend of Nicholas Bayard’s. It is not a secret that Jacob Leisler desires to place Nicholas Bayard where his tongue will not run away with him. He is in hiding, this Bayard, and you who are for the people would like to discover him I suppose.”
Papa Louis gently patted one knee, but did not commit himself by so much as a word. The back door softly opened and shut again. François looked around impatiently. No one was visible. “This Verplanck,” he continued, “it is at the house of his relatives that you will find Bayard, or at least he was there, and ten to one some one there can be bought over to tell where he can be found if he chance to have left. You have but to escort M. Verplanck to this house, where he will probably go first, and behold who is likely to come out to welcome him back but Nicholas Bayard. You say nothing; you ride away; at night you return and capture one or both.”