De Ramezay bit his lips and flushed slightly. Marc was not making the situation easier; but I could scarce blame him. Our host, however, motioned us to our seats, taking his own chair immediately that he saw us seated. For my own part, my anger was quite assuaged. I hastened to clear the atmosphere.
"Let me tell you the whole story, Ramezay," said I, "and you will understand. But first let me say that my son is wholly devoted to the cause of France. His former friendly intercourse with the English, a boyish matter, he brought to an utter end when the war came this way."
"And let me say," interrupted de Ramezay, manfully striving to amend his error, "that when one whom I need not name was filling my ear with matter not creditable to a young man named Marc de Mer, it did not come at all to my mind—and can you wonder?—that the person so spoken of was a son of my Briart, of the man who had so perilled his own life to save mine! I thought your son was but a child. It was thus that the accusations were allowed to stick in my mind,—which I do most heartily repent of! And for which I again crave pardon!"
"I beg of you, Monsieur, that you will think no more of it!" said Marc, heartily, being by this quite appeased.
Then with some particularity I told our story,—not omitting Marc's visit to his little Puritan at Annapolis, whereat de Ramezay smiled, and seemed to understand something which had before been dark to him. When the Black Abbé came upon the scene (I had none of our host's reluctance to mention the Abbé's name!) de Ramezay's brows gathered gloomily. But he heard the tale through with breathless attention up to the point of our landing at Chignecto.
"And now, right glad am I that you are here," he exclaimed, stretching out a hand to each of us. The frank welcome that illuminated the strong lines of his face left no more shadow of anger in our hearts.
"And here are the Abbé's precious documents!" said I, fetching forth the packet.
De Ramezay examined both letters with the utmost care.
"The reward," he said presently, with a dry smile, "is on a scale that savours of Quebec rather more than of thrifty New England. When Boston holds the purse-strings, information is bought cheaper than that! As for the signature, it is passable. But I fear it would scarce satisfy Master Apthorp!"
"I thought as much," said I, "though I have seen Mascarene's signature but once."