"It would be a great waste of good dancing not to," said the doctor lazily. "But you haven't told me who else has lost a cow or had an increase of goats while I was away."
"The death of even a beast excites pity in me."
"Yes, you are a holy man. You would rather skin a live Indian than a dead sheep."
The doctor tried his violin, and was lifting it again to position when Father Baby remarked:—
"They doubtless told you on the road that a party has come through from Post Vincennes."
"Now who would doubtless tell me that?"
"The governor's suite, since they must have known it. The party was in almost as soon as you left. Perhaps," suggested the friar, taking a crafty revenge for much insolence, "nobody would mention it to you on account of Monsieur Zhone's sister."
The violin bow sunk on the strings with a squeak.
"What sister?"
"The only sister of Monsieur Reece Zhone, Mademoiselle Zhone, from Wales. She came to Kaskaskia with the party from Post Vincennes."