There burst from the Heights on the other side a cannon shot, and then another and another. There was a great commotion, and many ran to Bigot’s carriage, reached in to touch his hand, and called down blessings on him.
“See that you save the other granaries,” he urged, adding, with a sneer, “and forget not to bless La Friponne in your prayers!”
It was a clever piece of acting. Presently from the Heights above came the woman’s voice again, so piercing that the crowd turned to her.
“Francois Bigot is a liar and a traitor!” she cried. “Beware of Francois Bigot! God has cast him out.”
A dark look came upon Bigot’s face; but presently he turned, and gave a sign to some one near the palace. The doors of the courtyard flew open, and out came squad after squad of soldiers. In a moment, they, with the people, were busy carrying water to pour upon the side of the endangered warehouse. Fortunately the wind was with them, else it and the palace also would have been burned that night.
The Intendant still stood in his carriage watching and listening to the cheers of the people. At last he beckoned to Doltaire and to me. We both went over.
“Doltaire, we looked for you at dinner,” he said. “Was Captain Moray”—nodding towards me—“lost among the petticoats? He knows the trick of cup and saucer. Between the sip and click he sucked in secrets from our garrison—a spy where had been a soldier, as we thought. You once wore a sword, Captain Moray—eh?”
“If the Governor would grant me leave, I would not only wear, but use one, your excellency knows well where,” said I.
“Large speaking, Captain Moray. They do that in Virginia, I am told.”
“In Gascony there’s quiet, your excellency.”