"I'll try it. I'll try it. The stuff Gatineau the miller sent doesn't
do any good now."
"Shangois is here--he's downstairs--if you want to see him."
Ferrol nodded. He was tired of talking.
"I'm going," said Lavilette, holding out his hand. "I'll join my company
to-day, and the scrimmage 'll begin as soon as we reach Papineau. We've
got four hundred men."
Ferrol tried to say something, but he was struggling with the cough in
his throat. He held out his hand, and Nicolas took it. At last he was
able to say:
"Good luck to you, Nic, and to the devil with the Rebellion! You're in
for a bad drubbing."
Nicolas had a sudden feeling of anger. This superior air of Ferrol's was
assumed by most Englishmen in the country, and it galled him.
"We'll not ask quarter of Englishmen; no-sacre!" he said in a rage.
"Well, Nic, I'm not so sure of that. Better do that than break your
pretty neck on a taut rope," was the lazy reply.
With an oath, Lavilette went out, banging the door after him. Ferrol
shrugged his shoulder with a stoic ennui, and put away the pistols in the
trunk. He was thinking how reckless he had been to take them out; and
yet he was amused, too, at the risk he had run.
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