"It is very light and free just now."
"Am I your confidante in all things?"
"I believe so."
"The year I lived with you at the hôtel taught me that you are like
sand; a great many strange things going on below."
"What a compliment! But give up trying to fathom me, Anne. I love you
better when you laugh. Must you be a nun, you who were once so gay?"
"I am weary."
"Of what? You ask me if I am your confidante in all things; Anne, are
you mine?"
No answer.
"So. Well, I shall not question you." The speaker drew her companion
closer and retucked the robes; and silence fell upon the two, silence
broken only by the wind, the flapping leather curtains, and the muffled
howling of the postilion.
It was twelve o'clock when the diligence drew up before the Corne
d'Abondance. The host came out, holding a candle above his head and
shading his eyes with his unengaged hand.
"Maître, I have brought you two guests," said the postilion, sliding
off his horse and grunting with satisfaction.
"Gentlemen, I hope."
"Ladies!" and lowering his voice, the postilion added: "Ladies of high
degree, I can tell you. One is the granddaughter of an admiral and the
other can not be less than a duchess."
"Ladies? Oh, that is most unfortunate! The ladies' chamber is all
upset, and every other room is engaged. They will be compelled to wait
fully an hour."
"That will not inconvenience us, Monsieur," said a voice from the
window of the diligence, "provided we may have something hot to drink;
wines and hot water, with a dash of sugar and brandy. Come, my dear;
and don't forget your mask."
"How disappointing that the hôtel was closed! Well, we can put up with
the tavern till morning."
With some difficulty the two women alighted and entered the common
assembly room, followed by the postilion who staggered under bulky
portmanteaus. They approached the fire unconcernedly, ignoring the
attention which their entrance aroused. The youngest gave a slight
scream as the Iroquois rose abruptly and moved away from the chimney.
"Holy Virgin!" Anne cried, clutching Gabrielle's arm; "it is an
Indian!" The vision of quiet in a Quebec convent grew vague.
"Hush! he would not be here if he were dangerous." Gabrielle turned
her grey-masked face toward the fire and rested a hand on the broad
mantel.
Victor, who had taken a table which sat in the shadow and who was
trying by the aid of champagne to forget the tragic scene of the hour
gone, came near to wasting a glass of that divine nectar of Nepenthe.
He brushed his eyes and held a palm to his ear. "That voice!" he
murmured. "It is not possible!"