La Garne looked at me with unaffected surprise and contempt.
“And pray, sir, who may you be to speak so confidently?” he asked.
“I am an officer of the king, Sir Abbé,” I answered, “and a messenger of the governor of New France, and a man of my word. Your quarrel here I do not very well understand, but I beg you to understand that this house is the house of my friends. I know you, Sir Abbé,—I have heard rumour of your work at Beaubassin, Baie Verte, and Gros Ile. I tell you, I will not suffer you to lift your hand against this house!”
“Truly, monsieur, you speak large,” sneered the priest. “But you may, perchance, have authority. I seem to have seen your face before. Your name?”
“Paul Grande,” said I, bowing.
La Garne’s face changed. He looked at me curiously, and then, with a sort of bitter tolerance, shrugged his shoulders.
“You have been to Monsieur le Commandant Vergor, at Beauséjour?” he asked.
I bowed.
“And to Vaurin, at Piziquid?” he went on thoughtfully.
I fancied that a shade of suspicion passed over the faces of my hosts; and Yvonne’s face paled slightly; but I replied: