“Adieu, M. le Curé.”
“Adieu, M. le Gouverneur. The saints have you in their holy keeping, and bring you to the shelter of the true fold.”
But as Girard turned to go, Cornwallis spoke again:
“M. Girard, there is a lad here, half Acadian, half British, know you aught of him?”
“Gabriel—ah, the hard name! I cannot call it.”
“Yet did the name and he that originally bore it sail once with your own conquering William from the land of your birth. Champernowne—it is a Norman name—and you, you yourself come from la belle Normandie, is it not so, M. le Curé?”
“It is true, monsieur. But this boy, I have heard of him from the curé at Port Royal. He is a good boy, though, alas, no longer of our faith.”
“He is to be trusted?”
“So I have been assured, monsieur.”
Meanwhile another scene was being enacted under the eastern rampart. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Gabriel, I baptize thee.”