“Hold, monsieur, in heaven’s name what are you about to do? Consider, that you will make yourself ridiculous. These people must sing, or they will plot.”
The colonel saw the folly of which he had nearly been guilty, and restrained himself. A moment later, he saw cause to congratulate himself, for, as he stood by the window, looking down at the impudent boys, the old French town constable made his appearance in the nick of time, and promptly collared two of the young scamps.
“You see, monsieur,” said father Gibault, pointing, “you did well to leave our old authorities in force. The old people will not suffer you to be insulted. See old Antoine. He knows hows to deal with the Kaskaskia boys.”
In effect, old Antoine seemed to be equal to the occasion, for he was a very strong old man, and he knocked the heads of the two boys together several times, with a force that made them howl again, while the rest of the lately uproarious group looked on, from afar off, in great dismay.
Clark, who had been standing by the open window, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar, which he threw down to the old constable, with a—
“Merci, mon ami.”
Old Antoine pulled off his hat, made a low bow, and pocketed the coin with many genuflexions, while the border leader turned away to Gibault, saying:
“My eyes are opened, father. The boys are right, after all; but what shall I do about my adjutant? If it should really happen that she loved him, I believe I should kill them both.”
“How old is this adjutant?” inquired father Gibault, quietly. “Remember, my son, that you lovers are apt to be jealous about trifles, and that is foolish. How old is he?”