Antoine Lecorbeau could hardly believe his ears when
a messenger came to tell him that the abbe, in consideration of faithful
services already rendered, would release him from the duty required
of him. A load rolled off the Acadian's prudent soul, though he remained
in a state of anxious perplexity. Had he known our Shakespeare he would
have said, in the strict privacy of his inward meditations, "I like not
fair terms and a villain's mind." But as for his good wife, she was
radiant, and reproached herself volubly for the evil thought she had
harbored against the good abbe. Pierre himself, seeing that Le Loutre
was sticking to his promise, found a good word to say for him, for the
first time that he could remember.
That same evening, supper being over about dusk, Pierre said he would
go up to the fort and see the old sergeant. As he got to the cabin door
he turned and threw a kiss to the dear ones he was leaving. Had the
light been stronger his mother could not but have noticed his set mouth
and the moisture in his eyes. He dared not trust himself to speak.
"Bring us back what news you can of the expedition, lad!" cried Lecorbeau
after him; and it was with a mighty effort that Pierre strained his voice
to answer "All right!"
At the fort everything was very quiet. Le Loutre was at the commandant's
quarters with a half dozen befeathered and bepainted braves, in each
of whom Pierre presently recognized a fellow-Acadian skillfully disguised.
In fact, there was not an Indian among them.
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