There was a short, whispered consultation outside, and a voice spoke, in very bad French:
“Open the door, Governor. We know you’re here. We will not hurt the lady, but we must have the Governor.”
“Monsieur Rocheblave has fled,” cried the lady, angrily, as her husband, quaking with fear, turned up the light and moved toward the door. “Have you no manners, pigs, that you do not believe a lady? Go away!”
The only answer was a blow that burst the fastening of the door, and into the room stalked Major Bowman, second in command to Clark, who advanced to Rocheblave with a cocked pistol in his hand, saying:
“Monsieur, you are my prisoner. Surrender your papers.”
Rocheblave sunk trembling into a chair.
“I surrender, monsieur. Spare my life, and pray do not insult my wife, if you are gentlemen.”
“We are gentlemen,” said Bowman, quietly. “Madame is safe; but you must dress and come with me to the commander. No excuses, sir. I give you five minutes to dress. Then you must come with us as you are. Where are your papers?”
Rocheblave pointed to an open bureau, littered with the more unimportant papers of his government, and the Kentuckian advanced to inspect them, while the Governor finished his dressing under the eye of a burly sergeant at the door, whose rifle looked remarkably ready for action at a moment’s notice.