“Fusillez tout homme dans la rue! Fermez fenetres!”
But fear is a quick translator, and every one knew the meaning of those words.
“Shoot every man in the street! Shut windows!”
A disinterested person would have admired the alacrity with which the windows banged to, in obedience to the order; but the people of Kaskaskia were too keenly alive to their own perils to admire any thing.
In a moment Governor Rocheblave came to his senses, and understood every thing. At first he had thought of an Indian rising, but the cannon-shots and bad French convinced him that a more formidable foe was at hand.
“Coralie, it is the barbarous Americans. What shall we do?” he faltered, as he gazed, panic-stricken, at his wife. “The papers—the agreements with the chiefs—they will find them, and I shall be shot.”
“Not so fast,” said madame, more coolly. “I know these men, if they are Americans. They are fools, where women are concerned. Where are the papers?”
“In the box,” said the trembling Governor, pointing to a casket of mahogany, open on the table.
In a moment the quick-witted woman pounced on the box, bore it to her bed, and swept up the loose papers to the same receptacle. She had hardly time to jump in after them when a clatter of weapons was heard on the staircase, and a loud knock was heard at the front door.
“Who’s there?” screamed madame, excitedly. “Are these barbarians that insult the privacy of a lady’s chamber? Go away!”