“Yes,” he said, “and if we broke faith with our rulers for our good or advancement, why—pfui! What matter!” He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. “A small matter! Let the habitan take the oath anew, said the governor. But now—now it is otherwise. As we came through the settlement the new proclamation was made known to us. Should the French—and verily are they not of our own blood? make fair offers, such, for instance, that under their rule too, we should live in peace, and it became the duty of a good habitan to give ear to them, what then? Then would we be called traitors, and meet the fate of such!”
Marie lifted her eyebrows, and made a little sound of dissension in her throat.
“It is true,” he persisted doggedly.
“The good friend is in the right,” put in Herbes, speaking for the first time. “This Governor Lawrence is not as the others, he is not to be cajoled.”
“But why should we break faith with the English?” It was Margot who spoke in a low voice. “With the Acadians the French have never yet kept faith.”
“What knows a young maid of great affairs such as these?” growled Marin; while his wife added with a taunting laugh:
“But thou must remember, mon ami, that the child has an English lover; what wouldst thou, then?”
The color dyed Margot’s cheek, then fled, leaving her very pale. But she was, as we know, no moral coward, so she quickly controlled herself, and replied quietly:
“Pardon, madame, thou hast forgotten that my cousin’s mother was an Acadian, even as we are, and that he himself was my cousin ere he was my lover. The country of his birth is dear to him, though whether he be yet alive I know not, or whether I shall ever see him more.”
Her voice choked, and her dark eyes filled. The good Marie clapped her briskly on the shoulder crying vehemently: