“But why not let me exercise the choice? I have my feelings as well as a woman,” he returned, stubbornly.
“That is conceivable, or you would never have advanced as far as your present difficulty. But I think this is a matter which can be arranged with a little diplomacy.”
“Then there's little hope for it if the diplomacy rests with me, for I've no more of it about me than a brass carronade.”
“Never mind. You can safely depend for that upon the lady. In the mean time, pray present her with my compliments and congratulations on so ingenious a shifting of responsibility, and remind her that I expect to pay her my respects on the morrow.”
But on the morrow I did not keep my appointment. About ten o'clock that morning, as I was with General Murray, chatting over the fire in his quarters in the rue St. Louis, we were interrupted by an aide, who entered in great excitement.
“Your Excellency, a ship is in sight from the lookout!”
“Good heavens, Kirkconnel! This decides it!” exclaimed the General, rising, and generously extending to me his hand. “God bless you, whichever it be!” he added, heartily, and we parted.
In all haste I made my way to the Chateau and gained such point of vantage as was possible. I eagerly scanned every foot of the river, but there was nothing I could make out, though from the excitement of the little knot at the signalling-point above it was evident they could sight her.
In an incredibly short time every available foothold was occupied. Men, women, and children, soldiers and sailors, sick and sound, flocked to the ramparts to strain their eyes for the reported sail.
Suddenly a cheer arose from the crowd, and all hearts leaped in response. No—it was but a sailor climbing the flag-staff on the Cape to bend new cordage for the colours, and presently they were unrolled and spread out on the sharp May wind. With every moment the crowd increased; the wounded even left their beds at the news, and painfully crawled to have the sooner tidings.