"Hush, sir!" said the Chevalier. "She is a girl once much beloved
and ever admired among us. Let not your rancour against the man be
spent upon the maid. Nay, more, why should you hate the man so? It
is said, your Excellency, that this Moray did not fire the shot
that wounded you, but one who has less reason to love you."
Bigot smiled wickedly, but said nothing.
The Chevalier laid a hand on Bigot's arm. "Will you not oppose
the Governor and the bishop? Her fate is sad enough."
"I will not lift a finger. There are weightier matters. Let
Doltaire, the idler, the Don Amato, the hunter of that fawn, save
her from the holy ambush. Tut, tut, Chevalier. Let her go. Your
nephew is to marry her sister; let her be swallowed up--a shame
behind the veil, the sweet litany of the cloister."
The Chevalier's voice set hard as he said in quick reply, "My
family honour, Francois Bigot, needs no screen. And if you
doubt that, I will give you argument at your pleasure;" so saying,
he turned and went back into the chateau.
Thus the honest Chevalier kept his word, given to me when I
released him from serving me on the St. Lawrence.
Bigot came down the steps, smiling detestably, and passed me
with no more than a quick look.
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