Clark had been a silent and interested listener to this brief colloquy, and he noticed that the Governor turned deadly pale at the home-thrust of the girl. Now he advanced himself and spoke to Ruby.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “I may possibly have passed out of your remembrance, but I have not forgotten the lady who came through such perils to Harrodsburg, to propose to me the alliance of the tribes of the Wabash. Whatever papers Madame Rocheblave may destroy, mademoiselle, it were better she should do it than that we should insult a lady. That is a point of honor with us rough Kentuckians.”
Ruby looked at him critically, and unconsciously Clark turned crimson under the glance. It seemed to him that he had never before seemed so dirty and unkempt in his life, as when he stood before this brilliant beauty, in his ragged campaign uniform, with his unshaven face.
“You Kentuckians have more mercy than we women,” she said. “I would have got those papers for you. But you Americans are easily worked on by a pretty face. I remember once when you were not so polite as now. You were rude to me, monsieur.”
And Clark, greatly confused, stammered that he “did not quite remember to what she referred,” as the straightforward beauty fixed him with her great dark eyes.
“I know,” she said. “I have a good memory, monsieur, and, if I have a mind, I can overturn all your fine expedition in the moment of success. Be polite now, for you will find that one year has made a great difference with Ruby Roland.”
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CURE’S EMBASSY.
Clark was about to answer deprecatingly, when the voice of the sentry at the lower door was heard challenging: