“That will do,” said Bellamont with dignity. “What is your name?”
“Jacques.”
That was the word Louis had uttered in the patroon’s study. It had brought on the blow that killed him.
“What are you doing here?”
“My instructions are secret, sir.”
“We’ll draw your secrets out,” whined the host, who was getting upon his feet slowly, and holding his handkerchief to his nose. Bellamont commanded him to be still, and continued talking with the priest.
“Father Jacques, how much you know of what concerns me, I am not aware; but this much I know of you; you came here last night expecting to meet Patroon Van Volkenberg, who is now under the displeasure of the government. You know the laws of this province. If you will disclose your secrets I will give you your life. Choose.”
“I refuse,” answered the priest without a moment’s hesitation.
I could have grasped his hand, for I knew what it was to look death in the face. But that grim sight did not stir him visibly. He was a man, and a brave one, for all we had against him.
“If you refuse,” said the Earl, “I must search you and the room for papers.”