“A prisoner?”
“No; a guest,” sarcastically, “but do not overstep the courtesy.”
We left him in conversation with the père, and I did not even glance back. Chevet breathed heavily, and I caught the mutter of his voice. “What meaneth all this chatter?” he asked gruffly. “Must you two quarrel so soon?”
“Why not?” I retorted. “The man bears me no love; ’tis but gold he thinks about.”
“Gold!” he stopped, and slapped his thighs. “’Tis precious little of that he will ever see then.”
“And why not? Was not my father a land owner?”
“Ay! till the King took it.”
“Then even you do not know the truth. I am glad to learn that, for I have dreamed that you sold me to this coxcomb for a share of the spoils.”
“What? a share of the spoils! Bah! I am no angel, girl, nor pretend to a virtue more than I possess. There is truth in the thought that I might benefit by your marriage to Monsieur Cassion, and, by my faith, I see no wrong in that. Have you not cost me heavily in these years? Why should I not seek for you a husband of worth in these colonies? Wherefore is that a crime? Were you my own daughter I could do no less, and this man is not ill to look upon, a fair-spoken 93 gallant, a friend of La Barre’s, chosen by him for special service––”