“I will take her,” said I at once, and I moved to open the door. At that moment I caught Gabord’s eye. There I read what caused me to pause. If I declared myself now, Gabord’s life would pay for his friendship to me—even if I killed Doltaire; for the matter would be open to all then just the same. That I could not do, for the man had done me kindnesses dangerous to himself. Besides, he was a true soldier, and disgrace itself would be to him as bad as the drum-head court-martial. I made up my mind to another course even as the perturbed “aho” which followed our glance fell from his puffing lips.
“But no, holy Mother,” said I, and I whispered in her ear. She opened the door and went in, leaving it ajar. I could hear only a confused murmur of voices, through which ran twice, “No, no, monsieur,” in Alixe’s soft, clear voice. I could scarcely restrain myself, and I am sure I should have gone in, in spite of all, had it not been for Gabord, who withstood me.
He was right, and as I turned away I heard Alixe cry, “My father, my poor father!”
Then came Doltaire’s voice, cold and angry: “Good Mother, this is a trick.”
“Your Excellency should be a better judge of trickery,” she replied quietly. “Will not your Excellency leave an unhappy lady to her trouble and the Church’s care?”
“If the Seigneur is hurt, I will take mademoiselle to him,” was his instant reply.
“It may not be, your Excellency,” she said. “I will furnish her with other escort.”
“And I, as Governor of this province, as commander-in-chief of the army, say that only with my escort shall the lady reach her father.”
At this Alixe spoke: “Dear Mere St. George, do not fear for me; God will protect me—”
“And I also, mademoiselle, with my life,” interposed Doltaire.