He brushed a speck of snuff from his sleeve.
"Frankly, my dear lass, I can not tell you as yet."
"I think you mock me," she asserted. "And I tell you, sir, I will be party to no such crime against humanity. You talk of traitors. I am wondering if there is more than one meaning to the word."
She turned with a flutter of garments and sped into the house. De Veulle eyed Murray rather quizzically, but the arch-conspirator gave no evidence of uneasiness.
"You shall tell me about it," he said, as if nothing had happened. "Meantime I suppose they may be lodged with the Keepers."
"Yes," agreed de Veulle; "but I desire to give some particular instructions for their entertainment."
"Do so; do so, by all means," answered Murray equably. "But wait; here comes Père Hyacinthe."
The Indians surrounding us huddled back, cringing against the stockade, their eyes glued upon a tall, thin figure in a threadbare black cassock of the Jesuit order. He walked with a peculiar halting gait. His face was emaciated, the akin stretched taut over prominent bones. His eyes blazed out of twin caverns.
Parts of his ears were gone, and as he drew nearer I saw that his face was criss-crossed by innumerable tiny scars. When he raised his hand in blessing the Indians I realized that two fingers were missing, and those which were left were twisted and gnarled as by fire.
"Whom have we here?" he called in a loud, harsh voice.