The thoughtless exclamation cut her deeply with its seeming implication of neglect, yet the words she strove to speak failed to come. The priest rebuked me gravely:
"Thou doest great injustice by such inconsiderate speech, my son. There are hearts loyal to France in this province, who would count living a crime if it were won at the cost of Lafrénière. He hath been already offered liberty, yet deliberately chooseth to remain and meet his fate. Holy Mother! we can do no more."
I bent, taking her moist hands gently between my own.
"I beg you pardon me, Madame; I am not yet wholly myself, and intended no such offence as my hasty words would seem to imply. One's manners do not improve with long dwelling among savages."
She met my stumbling apology with a radiant smile.
"I know your heart too well to misjudge. Yet it hurt me to feel you could deem me thoughtless toward my father."
"You have seen him since his arrest?"
"Once only—at the Captain-General's office, before they were condemned and taken aboard the flag-ship."
"But the prisoners are Catholics; surely they are permitted the offices of the Church at such a time?"
A hard look swept across the Capuchin's pale, ascetic face.