A single
candle flickered on the table, and the candlestick was an empty
burgundy bottle. The call of one sentry to another broke the solemn
quiet.
"And you have not grown sick for home since you left the sea?" asked
the Chevalier.
"Not I!" There were times when Victor could lie cheerfully and without
the prick of conscience. "One hasn't time to think of home. But how
are you getting on with your Iroquois?"
"Fairly."
"You are determined to meet D'Herouville?"
The Chevalier extended his right arm, allowing Victor to press it with
his fingers. Victor whistled softly. The arm, while thin, was like a
staff of oak. Presently the same arm reached out and snuffed the
candle.
"Shall you ever go back to France, Paul?"
A sigh from the other side of the room.
"I saw the vicomte talking to De Leviston to-day. De Leviston was
scowling. They separated when I approached."
"Will you have the goodness to go to sleep?"
"What the devil brings De Leviston so high on this side the water?"
Silence.
"I never liked his sneaking face."
A sentry called, another, and still another.
"Are you there, Paul?"
No answer.
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