The real Indians were
awaiting their leader and spiritual father in the woods beyond
Fort Lawrence.
Pierre was warmly greeted by his fellow-villagers, all of whom had
evidently worked themselves up into something like enthusiasm for their
undertaking. Of the regular French soldiery there were none about. Not
even a sentry was to be seen. The commandant was on hand, helping to
complete the disguises of the Acadians, and he did not choose that
any of his men should be able to say they had seen him give personal
countenance to a violation of the treaty.
The commandant was very well disposed to the family of Antoine Lecorbeau,
from whom he bought farm produce at ridiculously low terms, to sell it
again in Louisburg at a profit of one or two hundred per cent. He spoke
good humoredly to Pierre, and even helped him with his paint and feathers.
Unscrupulous and heartless where his own interests were at stake, in small
matters he was rather amiable than otherwise.
"Won't your father and mother be terribly anxious about you, when you
fail to put in an appearance to-night? The good abbe tells me they are
not to know of your whereabouts!" said the officer to Pierre, in a low
voice.
"What, sir!" cried Pierre, aghast at the thought. "Won't they be told
where I've gone?"
"His Reverence says not," replied the officer. "His Reverence is very
considerate!"
Pierre was almost beside himself. He knew not what to do. His hands
dropped to his side, and he could only look imploringly at the commandant.
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