“No, you should not!” rang out a clear voice, and le père Jean stepped into the path before us. “Man never spake truer words, Sarennes. I have followed you night and day to bring you back to your duty. You are waited for every hour at Louisbourg, for the Indians will not move without you.”
He spake rapidly, like one accustomed to command, and at the same time held forth his hand to me, as one might to a child, and I seized it in both mine, and stepped close to his side.
At the first sound of the priest's voice M. de Sarennes's whole aspect changed; his face took on a hard, obstinate look, and he scowled as if he would have struck the man before him, but he answered him not a word.
“Go!” again commanded the priest. “Go back to Louisbourg! You need no word of mine to urge you; if you do, I will tell you the Cross of St. Louis awaits you there.”
“What care I for your Cross of St. Louis? I am not a French popinjay to be dazzled by your gewgaws from Versailles.”
“Then go because your honour calls!”
“Who are you to prate about honour? What does a priest know about honour? Keep to your pater-nosters and aves!” he cried, with an insulting laugh.
“You clown!” cried the priest, trembling with indignation. “My ancestors carried their own banner to the Sepulchre of Our Lord, when yours were hewers of wood and drawers of water! But, forgive me,” he added, almost in the same breath, “this is beside the question. M. de Sarennes, you are a soldier, and as such your honour is dear to you; there are hundreds of men, aye, and there are women too, whose honour and safety in a few weeks, perhaps sooner, will depend on your succour. You know your help is absolutely necessary in the event of the place being invested. M. de Montcalm expects you to be at your post; M. de Vaudreuil has himself given you his orders; your Indians will follow no other than yourself, and are only waiting for you to lead them. No one knows better than yourself with what suspicion they will look on your disappearance. Your name will be on every lip in Louisbourg, and every eye will hourly watch for your coming. You carry the safety of the fortress, perhaps of the country, in your keeping.”
“What you say is no doubt true, mon père. But it rests with you whether I go or not,” he returned, in a quiet voice, without a trace of the passion which had swayed him a moment since.
“How? In what way can it rest with me? I have given you my message, your orders.”