I remembered the Chevalier de St. Julhien was Hugh's colonel, and eagerly caught at the opening, for I had begun to be seriously frightened.
“Yes, monsieur, since you must know, it is Mme. de St. Julhien.”
“Oh, ho! ho! Nom de Ciel! But that is a good one!” He roared like a peasant, and I almost screamed in terror. “That is a good one! I have been in and out of Louisbourg for the last ten years and more, and I have yet to hear of a Mme. de St. Julhien. Come, come, ma belle! I'll wager my head you are no more Mme. de St. Just, than I am. You have been playing a pretty comedy to these simple spectators, who were too scrupulous to venture a question. It took the barbarous coureur de bois to see through the paint! There! There! Don't look so frightened. I can guess, readily enough, what brings a pretty woman to the walls of a garrison town.”
Oh, the shame, the miserable shame and degradation which overwhelmed me at the brutal insinuations of this well-born clown! And, to crown it all, he stepped close beside me, and before I had a suspicion of his intent, he threw his arms about my waist and kissed me.
“You wretch! you cowardly hound!” I cried, beside myself at this last insult. “How dare you treat me thus? I will appeal to M. de Montcalm, and you shall rue this day beyond any you have ever lived. I will appeal to your mother—”
“O, là, là, là, my charming little Mme. Je-Ne-Sais-Quoi, you can complain to M. de Montcalm when you see him. As for my mother, I hardly imagine you will dare to tell her anything which will not excuse my action. But come, madame, we are not getting on with our conversation at all. Believe me, I am not a bad fellow at bottom. Tell me who it is you are really going to meet in Louisbourg, and we shall see if it be not possible to further your plans.”
“Let me go, M. de Sarennes, let me go!” I implored.
“Now, madame, let us talk sensibly. Consider how awkward it may be if I have to pursue these inquiries before others. In any event, I can guess fairly well. Let us see: Madame is an Englishwoman; is well born, wealthy, and, if she will not resent my saying so, is of a certain age. Good! Monsieur is an Englishman; well born, poor, and also of a suitable age. Good! Monsieur is unfortunate in his present position; is practically in exile. Madame comes overseas alone, save for a chance waiting-woman she picks up. Why? Surely not for the delights of travel. Monsieur's name is Le Chevalier Maxwell de Kirkconnel. Madame's name is—Ma foi! I haven't the slightest idea what it is. There! madame, have I not drawn the outline of the comedy cleverly enough, for a mere coureur de bois, a mere Canadian?”
“Let me go, monsieur, let me go!”
“Tell me first, are you not Madame de Maxwell?”