The Englishman's face brightened.
"Almost you make me wish to go to Louisburg, Mademoiselle. With the duty you apportion me I should be much happier, I assure you, than here in Annapolis trying to govern your good fellow-countrymen. But I will give my parole. I promise you, sir," and he turned his face to Jean, "that I will not in any way interfere with the departure of you and your ship from Acadie."
"Thank you," said Jean, and he undid the rope and the scarf.
The Englishman arose, walked down to the waterside with Barbe, and with elaborate courtesy helped her into the boat. He bent his lips over her hand as he said good-by.
Turning upon him then a laughing face of farewell, Barbe cried: "Never, never will I pardon you, Monsieur, for consenting to give your parole!"
"Mademoiselle," he answered, "I am your prisoner still, and always."
THOSE OLD LUNES! OR, WHICH IS THE MADMAN?
By W. GILMORE SIMMS
"I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw."—Hamlet.