Bowman, who was a chivalrous Kentucky gentleman, was very much embarrassed by the lady’s bitter tongue, and was greatly relieved by hearing the voice of his commander on the stairs. He rose and retreated sheepishly to the door, while madame exchanged a triumphant glance with her husband, and fired a volley of spiteful sarcasms at the abashed soldier.
The next moment Clark entered the room, followed by the boy adjutant.
A conference, in low tones, took place between the three officers, at the end of which Clark advanced to the Governor.
The border leader, haggard and unshorn, with dirty, ragged dress, was by no means a reassuring sight. The moment madame laid eyes on him, she trembled for her papers. While Clark was speaking to the Governor, the little adjutant, whose face had been blacked all over, so that he looked worse than his leader, went peering about the room in a manner very different from that of his restrained and dignified chiefs.
“Governor,” said Clark, “Major Bowman tells me you have hidden all the valuable papers of your office. Where are they? Give them up, and I give you your parole. Refuse, and I put a guard over you.”
“Who are you, sir?” asked Rocheblave, sulkily.
“I am Colonel Clark of Kentucky,” said the other. “I have taken your town, and your people are being disarmed as fast as my men can pile the weapons. Where are your papers?”
“I know, colonel,” said the quiet voice of Adjutant Frank. As he spoke he pointed to madame, who sat up in the bed, guarding her treasures. The lady screamed indignantly.
“Wretches, barbarians, do you bring boys with you to insult ladies? The Governor has no papers. I swear it. These are but my private jewels and trinkets, and let me see a man dare to touch them.”
Little Frank was actually approaching the lady, to take the papers his sharp eyes had discovered, when the deep voice of Clark broke in: