“Ay, ’twill not be the first time he has had audience, and already he is at sea. We can wait, and laugh at this Cassion over his useless journey.”
“But he––he is treacherous, Monsieur.”
He laughed, as though the words amused.
“To one who has lived, as I, amid savages, treachery is an old story. The Commissaire will not find me asleep. We will serve each other, and let it go at that. Ah! we are to be interrupted.”
He straightened up facing the door, and I turned, confronting my uncle as he emerged in advance. He was a burly man, with iron-gray hair, and face reddened by out-of-doors; and he stopped in surprise at sight of a stranger, his eyes hardening with suspicion.
“And who is this with whom you converse so privately, Adele?” he questioned brusquely, “a young popinjay new to these parts I venture.”
De Artigny stepped between us, smiling in good humor.
“My call was upon you, Monsieur Chevet, and not the young lady,” he said quietly enough, yet with a tone to the voice. “I merely asked her if I had found the right place, and if, Monsieur, the Commissaire Cassion was still your guest.”
“And what may I ask might be your business with the Commissaire Cassion?” asked the latter, pressing 10 past Chevet, yet bowing with a semblance of politeness, scarcely in accord with the studied insolence of his words. “I have no remembrance of your face.”
“Then, Monsieur Cassion is not observant,” returned the younger man pleasantly, “as I accompanied the Sieur de la Salle in his attempt to have audience with the governor.”