ising to call for
me within two hours. There was little for me to do but to put in a bag
the fewest necessaries, to roll up my heavy cloak, to stow safely my
pipes and two goodly packets of tobacco, which were to be my chiefest
solace for many a long day, and to write some letters--one to Governor
Dinwiddie, one to George Washington, and one to my partner in Virginia,
telling them my fresh misfortunes, and begging them to send me money,
which, however useless in my captivity, would be important in my fight
for life and freedom. I did not write intimately of my state, for I was
not sure my letters would ever pass outside Quebec. There were only two
men I could trust to do the thing. One was a fellow-countryman, Clark,
a ship-carpenter, who, to save his neck and to spare his wife and child,
had turned Catholic, but who hated all Frenchmen barbarously at heart,
remembering two of his bairns butchered before his eyes. The other was
Voban. I knew that though Voban might not act, he would not betray
me. But how to reach either of them? It was clear that I must bide my
chances.

One other letter I wrote, brief but vital, in which I begged the
sweetest girl in the world not to have uneasiness because of me; that
I trusted to my star and to my innocence to convince my judges; and
begging her, if she could, to send me a line at the citadel. I told her
I knew well how hard it would be, for her mother and her father would
not now look upon my love with favour. But I trusted all to time and
Providence.

I sealed my letters, put them in my pocket, and sat down to smoke and
think while I waited for Doltaire. To the soldier on duty, whom I did
not notice at first, I now offered a pipe and a glass of wine, which he
accepted rather gruffly, but enjoyed, if I might judge by his devotion
to them.

By-and-bye, without any relevancy at all, he said abruptly, "If a little
sooner she had come--aho!"

For a moment I could not think what he meant; but soon I saw.

"The palace would have been burnt if the girl in scarlet had come
sooner--eh?" I asked. "She would have urged the people on?"

"And Bigot burnt, too, maybe," he answered.

"Fire and death--eh?"

I offered him another pipeful of tobacco. He looked doubtful, but
accepted.

"Aho! And that Voban, he would have had his hand in," he growled.

I began to get more light.

"She was shut up at Chateau Bigot--hand of iron and lock of steel--who
knows the rest! But Voban was for alw