"There's a new jug of medicine or cordial come this morning from
Shangois, the notary," said Lavilette. "I just happened to think of it.
What he does counts. He knows a lot."
Ferrol's eyes showed interest at once.
"I'll try it. I'll try it. The stuff Gatineau the miller sent doesn't do any good now."
"Shangois is here—he's downstairs—if you want to see him."
Ferrol nodded. He was tired of talking.
"I'm going," said Lavilette, holding out his hand. "I'll join my company to-day, and the scrimmage 'll begin as soon as we reach Papineau. We've got four hundred men."
Ferrol tried to say something, but he was struggling with the cough in his throat. He held out his hand, and Nicolas took it. At last he was able to say:
"Good luck to you, Nic, and to the devil with the Rebellion! You're in for a bad drubbing."
Nicolas had a sudden feeling of anger. This superior air of Ferrol's was assumed by most Englishmen in the country, and it galled him.
"We'll not ask quarter of Englishmen; no-sacre!" he said in a rage.