An idea came to me. "I must be fine to-morrow," said I. "I must not shame my jailer." I rubbed my beard—I had none when I came into this dungeon first.
"Aho!" said he, his eyes wheeling.
I knew he understood me. I did not speak, but went on running my fingers through my beard.
"As vain as Absalom," he added. "Do you think they'll hang you by the hair?"
"I'd have it off," said I, "to be clean for the sacrifice."
"You had Voban before," he rejoined; "we know what happened—a dainty bit of a letter all rose-lily scented, and comfits for the soldier. The pretty wren perches now in the Governor's house—a-cousining, a-cousining. Think you it is that she may get a glimpse of m'sieu' the dormouse as he comes to trial? But 'tis no business o' mine; and if I bring my prisoner up when called for, there's duty done!"
I saw the friendly spirit in the words.
"Voban," urged I, "Voban may come to me?"
"The Intendant said no, but the Governor yes," was the reply; "and that M'sieu' Doltaire is not yet come back from Montreal, so he had no voice. They look for him here to-morrow."
"Voban may come?" I asked again.