Once or twice he coughed, a hacking, wrenching cough, which struck
the ears of more than one of the officers painfully; for they had known
him in his best and gayest days at Quebec.
It was arranged that he should advance, holding out a flag of truce.
Before he went he drew aside one of the younger lieutenants, in whose
home at Quebec his sister had always been a welcome visitor, and told him
briefly the story of his marriage, of his wife and of Nicolas. He sent
Christine a message, that she should not forget to carry his last token
to his sister! Then turning, he muffled up his face against the crisp,
harsh air (there was design in this also), and, waving a white
handkerchief, advanced to the door of the store-room.
The soldiers waited anxiously, fearing that Nic would fire, in spite of
all; but presently a spot of white appeared at one of the loopholes; then
the door was slowly opened. Ferrol entered, and it was closed again.
Nicolas Lavilette grasped his hand.
"I knew you wouldn't go back on me," said he. "I knew you were my
friend. What the devil do they want out there?"
"I am more than your friend: I'm your brother," answered Ferrol,
meaningly. Then, quickly taking off his greatcoat, cap, muffler and
boots: "Quick, on with these!" he said.
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