“Can you give me proof of this?”
“Yes, whenever you dare issue the order for his arrest and that of others. But this you cannot do. You must not. They are too strong for you. If Achille were here now!”
“Ay! Would he were!”
They now paused, as if the end of their walk had been reached. Laudonniere wheeled about, with the purpose of returning. They had not begun well to retrace their steps before the figure of a person was seen approaching them.
“Speak of the devil,” said Alphonse, “and he thinks himself called; here comes Le Genré.”
“Indeed!” said Laudonniere.
“See now if I am not right—he comes to solicit the command of the Sylph.”
They were joined by the person of whom they had been speaking. His approach was respectful—his manner civil—his tones subdued. There was certainly a change for the better in his deportment. A slight smile might have been seen to turn the corner of the lips of young D’Erlach, as he heard the address of the new comer. Le Genré began by requesting a private interview with his commander. Upon the words, D’Erlach went aside and was soon out of hearing. His prediction was true. Le Genré respectfully, but earnestly, solicited the command of the vessel about to sail for France. He was civilly but positively denied. Laudonniere had not been impressed by the suggestion of his youthful counsellor; or, if he were, he was not prepared to yield a vessel of the king, with all its men and munitions, to the control of one who might abuse them to the worst purposes. The face of Le Genré changed upon this refusal.
“You deny me all trust, Monsieur,” he said. “You refused me the command when my claim was at least equal to that of Ottigny. You denied me that which you gave to D’Erlach, and now—Monsieur, do you hold me incompetent to this command?”
“Nay,” said Laudonniere, “but I better prefer your services here—I cannot so well dispense with them.”