“I will meditate on your fate instead,” I replied.
“Think!” he said again, waving off my answer with his hand. “The letters I shall no more ask for; and you will not escape death?”
“Never by that way,” rejoined I.
“So. Very good. Au plaisir, my captain. I go to dine at the Seigneur Duvarney’s.”
With that last thrust he was gone, and left me wondering if the Seigneur had ever made an effort to see me, if he had forgiven the duel with his son.
That was the incident.
When Gabord and Voban were gone, leaving the light behind, I went over to where the torch stuck in the wall, and drew Alixe’s letter from my pocket with eager fingers. It told the whole story of her heart.
CHATEAU ST. LOUIS, 27th November, 1757.
Though I write you these few words, dear Robert, I do not know that they will reach you, for as yet it is not certain they will let Voban visit you. A year, dear friend, and not a word from you! I should have broken my heart if I had not heard of you one way and another. They say you are much worn in body, though you have always a cheerful air. There are stories of a visit Monsieur Doltaire paid you, and how you jested. He hates you, and yet he admires you too.