"
"My foragers sweep clean!" said Varin, resuming his seat, and
looking under his hand to steady his gaze. "Better brooms were
never made in Besancon. The country is swept as clean as a ball-
room. Your Excellency and the Marquise might lead the dance over
it, and not a straw lie in your way!"
"And did you manage it without a fight, Varin?" asked the Sieur
d'Estebe, with a half sneer.
"Fight! Why fight? The habitans will never resist the King's name.
We conjure the devil down with that. When we skin our eels we don't
begin at the tail! If we did, the habitans would be like the eels
of Melun--cry out before they were hurt. No! no! D'Estebe! We are
more polite in Ville Marie. We tell them the King's troops need the
corn. They doff their caps, and with tears in their eyes, say,
'Monsieur le Commissaire, the King can have all we possess, and
ourselves too, if he will only save Canada from the Bostonnais.'
This is better than stealing the honey and killing the bees that
made it, D'Estebe!"
"But what became of the families of the habitans after this swoop of
your foragers?" asked the Seigneur de Beauce, a country gentleman
who retained a few honorable ideas floating on top of the wine he
had swallowed.
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