“Possibly; but M. de Vaudreuil is there. We cannot hope to aspire to all his virtues.” And to my dismay I saw we were once more nearing dangerous ground.
To turn the conversation again, I asked for news of the English at Louisbourg.
“Some are still there, some in garrison at Beauséjour, some in New York and Boston, and others returned to England; but we will doubtless have an opportunity of inspecting most of them here next spring, unless, as Mme. de Sarennes suggests, peace be declared in the meantime.”
This was as bad as ever, but led to nothing more than a momentary stiffness, which Angélique's entrance dissipated, and made a merry ending to a visit not without its difficulties.
Before the Marquis left, he said to me: “You may not have heard, madame, but your brother, who is an officer in Fraser's, a Highland regiment, was captured in the first engagement, and was a prisoner in Louisbourg up to the capitulation. If you wish, I can obtain more definite news of him through M. de Maxwell, one of our officers who was in garrison there at the time.”
Nothing could have been more unlooked-for, and for a moment I was overwhelmed at the thought of this innocent betrayal of my presence to Hugh. I could hardly find courage to reply, and it was fortunate that my answer served as a cover to my confusion.
“M. de Montcalm, I have never heard from or written to my brother since he accepted his English commission,” I said, in a trembling voice.
“Pardon, madame; I had forgotten when I spoke.”
“Just as we forget, monsieur, that our Marguerite is not one of us by birth as she is in heart,” cried Angélique, enthusiastically, slipping her arm about me.
This shewed me more than any other happening how precarious my position was, for though neither Angélique, nor her mother, nor M. de Montcalm, would now mention my identity, any of them might already have spoken of my brother. M. de Sarennes knew my secret, and Hugh might discover it at any moment.