He read my thoughts. “You have had blithe hours here, monsieur,” he said--“you know the way to probe us; but of all the ladies who could be most useful to you, you left out the greatest. There you erred. I say it as a friend, not as an officer, there you erred. From Madame Cournal to Bigot, from Bigot to Vaudreuil the Governor, from the Governor to France. But now--” He paused, for Madame Duvarney and her daughter had come, and we all rose. The ladies had heard enough to know Doltaire’s meaning. “But now--Captain Moray dines with us,” said Madame Duvarney quietly and meaningly. “Yet I dine with Madame Cournal,” rejoined Doltaire, smiling. “One may use more option with enemies and prisoners,” she said keenly, and the shot ought to have struck home. In so small a place it was not easy to draw lines close and fine, and it was in the power of the Intendant, backed by his confederates, to ruin almost any family in the province if he chose; and that he chose at times I knew well, as did my hostess. Yet she was a woman of courage and nobility of thought, and I knew well where her daughter got her good flavor of mind. I could see something devilish in the smile at Doltaire’s lip’s, but his look was wandering between Alixe and me, and he replied urbanely, “I have ambition yet--to connive at captivity”; and then he looked full and meaningly at her. I can see her now, her hand on the high back of a great oak chair, the lace of her white sleeve falling away, and her soft arm showing, her eyes on his without wavering. They did not drop, nor turn aside; they held straight on, calm, strong--and understanding. By that look I saw she read him; she, who had seen so little of the world, felt what he was, and met his invading interest firmly, yet sadly; for I knew long after that a smother was at her heart then, foreshadowings of dangers that would try her as few women are tried. Thank God that good women are born with greater souls for trial than men; that, given once an anchor for their hearts, they hold until the cables break. When we were about to enter the dining-room, I saw, to my joy, Madame incline towards Doltaire, and I knew that Alixe was for myself--though her mother wished it little, I am sure. As she took my arm, her finger-tips plunged softly into the velvet of my sleeve, giving me a thrill of courage. I felt my spirits rise, and I set myself to carry things off gaily, to have this last hour with her clear of gloom, for it seemed easy to think that we should meet no more. As we passed into the dining-room, I said, as I had said the first time I went to dinner in her father’s house, “Shall we be flippant, or grave?” I guessed that it would touch her. She raised her eyes to mine and answered, “We are grave; let us seem flippant.”