“Yet unwittingly I may have offended. It was I who instigated the baiting of M. de Proballe and the scurvy knave he calls his secretary. I knew when he would leave, and set on Babillon to frighten him. I have heard it was against your wish, and would not have you blame your citizens for the act of a rough Bourbon soldier.”
“What happened to them?” asked Lucette. And when Pascal told her of Dauban’s treatment, she laughed and clapped her hands.
“May I tack a condition to my pardon, monsieur?” asked Gabrielle, smiling.
“Were I one of your cautious burghers, I would urge that the condition be first specified.”
“It is that you do not leave with the Bourbon forces to-morrow, but remain to be a friend and help to us all.”
“Then I pray you undo the tacking. Remember how sad a place Morvaix must ever be in my memory.”
“Sad?” exclaimed Lucette. “Monsieur!”
“I mean because of my many bereavements here.”
“Bereavements, monsieur?” said Gabrielle, with a frown of perplexity.
“Bereavements truly; what else? ’Twas here in Morvaix I lost my wife, after a union of but a few minutes; and after that my newly betrothed was snatched from me by inexorable fate.”