"Chut!" said I, "all the world knows by now of de Ramezay's plans. There had been no taint of treachery in talking of them!"
Marc sat down again, and the ghost of a smile flickered over his lean face. Though free enough of his speech betimes, he was for the most part as unsmiling as an Indian.
"I see you are mocking me, Father," he said presently, relighting his pipe. "Indeed, you know very well I am on your side, for weal or ill. As long as there was a chance of the English being left in peaceable possession of Acadie, I urged that we should accept their rule fully and in good faith. No one can say they haven't ruled us gently and generously. And I feel right sure they will continue to rule us, for the odds are on their side in the game they play with France. But seeing that the game has yet to be played out, there is only one side for me, and I believe it to be the losing one. Though as a boy I liked them well enough, I have nothing more to do with the English now except to fight them. How could I have another flag than yours?"
"You are my own true lad, whatever our difference of opinion!" said I. And if my voice trembled in a manner that might show a softness unsuited to a veteran of my training, bear in mind that, till within the past three days, I had not seen the lad for three years, and then but briefly. At Grand Pré, and in Quebec at school, Marc had grown up outside my roving life, and I was just opening my eyes to find a comrade in this tall son of my boyhood's love. His mother, a daughter of old Baron St. Castin by his Penobscot wife, had died while he was yet at the breast. A babe plays but a small part in the life of a ranging bush-fighter, though I had ever a great tenderness for the little lad. Now, however, I was looking upon him with new eyes.
Having blown the coals again into a heat, I returned to Marc's words, certain of which had somewhat stuck in my crop.
"But you speak with despondence, lad, of the chances of the war, and of the hope of Acadie! By St. Joseph, we'll drive the English all the way back of the Penobscot before you're a twelvemonth older. And Acadie will see the Flag of the Lilies flapping once more over the ramparts of Port Royal."
Marc shook his head slowly, and seemed to be following with his eyes the vague pattern of the shadows on the floor.
"It seems to me," said he, with a conviction which caught sharply at my heart even though I bore in mind his youth and inexperience, "that rather will the Flag of the Lilies be cast down even from the strong walls of Quebec. But may that day be far off! As for our people here in Acadie, during the last twelvemonth it has been made very clear to me that evil days are ahead. The Black Abbé is preparing many sorrows for us here in Acadie."
"I suppose you mean La Garne!" said I. "He's a diligent servant to France; but I hate a bad priest. He's a dangerous man to cross, Marc! Don't go out of your way to make an enemy of the Black Abbé!"
Again that ghost of a smile glimmered on Marc's lips.