“‘Let not your heart be troubled,’” murmured Father Bisset. “May the good angel guard you, my child.”
Alaine made the same respectful obeisance she had been wont to use as a child, and then turned to Marie. “I am ready to retire,” she said. And the last thing of which she was conscious before she dropped off to sleep was that Marie’s vigilant eyes seemed to watch her even there in the darkness.
CHAPTER XI
FROM SHIP TO SHORE
To get rid of Marie and to escape,—the thought recurred to Alaine over and over again for the next few days. She had nothing to do but to watch the sea-birds, and, when she was not talking to Father Bisset, the time hung heavily on her hands. The good old man, be it said, had given no cause for suspicion of his being a renegade priest, and, indeed, his lifelong manner of speech and his pious ejaculations were too much a matter of habit to evidence any change in his opinions. François, on his part, exercised quite as much acumen in treating Alaine with deference and in seldom forcing his society upon her.
“She will more readily accept the inevitable if I leave her to your persuasive arguments,” he said to the ex-priest, confidentially. “Ma foi! but she has a fine temper. Yet it is not a bad alternative. I am not so evil nor so cruel as I seem, good father, despite my having small interest in religious matters. I prefer the Church to no church, naturally, but I do not trouble myself to go further. I hear Mass; I make my confession; it is enough. You may not consider that as sufficient for the husband of Alaine, yet better that than a Huguenot, you will say. We will return to France after a time, and I keep my promise; yes, I am not all evil, for I swear I shall try to deliver M. Hervieu. That may not agree with what you approve; you may believe he should suffer his punishment, but I am not so tenacious. Do not shake your head, good father, you too will use your good offices for him; for if Alaine prefers to remain in a convent for a year, I shall take you to Guadaloupa and on the return voyage an opportunity is afforded you to deal artfully yet gently with the erring man, who by this will probably be glad enough to escape the experiences of an engagé. And so all goes well.”
“But, my son,” expostulated Father Bisset, “my mission is not to accompany you upon your travels.”
“But, good Father, consider the reward. You come to America upon mission work. What is better than such an opportunity? And I promise you afterwards you shall go your ways and I will do my utmost for you. I will give you a heavy purse to further your good works. In the long run you will gain.”
“But, my son, I cannot see why this little Alaine should be so great a prize that you take all this trouble. Is it not rather Étienne who should marry her?”
“Étienne!” François clinched his fist. “He shall never have her. At first—but I will not go into that,—it is sufficient that now I wish to marry her, and I shall move heaven and earth to accomplish my object.”
“Softly, softly, my son. Heaven is not to be moved for the accomplishment of human desires.”