The Lady of Fort St. John | Page 8

muttered under her breath as she turned it on her knees.
"What hast thou done to it since my lady left thee?" inquired Zélie
sharply. But she got no answer from the girl.
Unrewarded for her minstrelsy by a single look from the Swiss, Le
Rossignol quit playing, and made a fist of the curved instrument to
shake at him, and let herself down the back of the settle. She sat on the
mandolin box in shadow, vaguely sulking, until Madame La Tour,
fresh from her swift attiring, stood at the top of the stairway. That
instant the half-hid mandolin burst into quavering melodies.
"Thou art back again, Nightingale?" called the lady, descending.
"Yes, Madame Marie."
"Madame!" exclaimed Klussman, and as his voice escaped repression it
rang through the hall. He advanced, but his lady lifted her finger to
hold him back.
"Presently, Klussman. The first matter in hand is to rebuke this
runaway."
Marie's firm and polished chin, the contour of her glowing mouth, and
the kindling beauty of her eyes were forever fresh delights to Le
Rossignol. The dwarf watched the shapely and majestic woman moving
down the hall.

"Madame," besought Zélie, looking anxiously around the end of the
settle. But she also was obliged to wait. Marie extended a hand to the
claws of Le Rossignol, who touched it with her beak.
"Thou hast very greatly displeased me."
"Yes, Madame Marie," said the culprit, with resignation.
"How many times have you set all our people talking about these witch
flights on the swan, and sudden returns after dark?"
"I forget, Madame Marie."
"In all seriousness thou shalt be well punished for this last," said the
lady severely.
"I was punished before the offense. Your absence punished me,
Madame Marie."
"A bit of adroit flattery will not turn aside discipline. The smallest
vassal in the fort shall know that. A day in the turret, with a loaf of
bread and a jug of water, may put thee in better liking to stay at home."
"Yes, Madame Marie," assented the dwarf, with smiles.
"And I may yet find it in my heart to have that swan's neck wrung."
"Shubenacadie's neck! Oh, Madame Marie, wring mine! It would be
the death of me if Shubenacadie died. Consider how long I have had
him. And his looks, my lady! He is such a pretty bird."
"We must mend that dangerous beauty of his. If these flights stop not, I
will have his wings clipped."
"His satin wings,--his glistening, polished wings," mourned Le
Rossignol, "tipped with angel-finger feathers! Oh, Madame Marie, my
heart's blood would run out of his quills!"
"It is a serious breach in the discipline of this fortress for even you to

disobey me constantly," said the lady, again severely, though she knew
her lecture was wasted on the human brownie.
Le Rossignol poked and worried the mandolin with antennæ-like
fingers, and made up a contrite face.
The dimness of the hall had not covered Klussman's large pallor. The
emotions of the Swiss passed over the outside of his countenance, in
bulk like himself. His lady often compared him to a noble young
bullock or other well-conditioned animal. There was in Klussman much
wholesomeness and excuse for existence.
"Now, Klussman," said Marie, meeting her lieutenant with the
intentness of one used to sudden military emergencies. He trod straight
to the fireplace, and pointed at the strange girl, who hid her face.
"Madame, I have come in to speak of a thing you ought to know. Has
that woman told you her name?"
"No, she hath not. She hath kept a close tongue ever since we found her
at the outpost."
"She ever had a close tongue, madame, but she works her will in
silence. It hath been no good will to me, and it will be no good will to
the Fort of St. John."
"Who is she, Klussman?"
"I know not what name she bears now, but two years since she bore the
name of Marguerite Klussman."
"Surely she is not your sister?"
"No, madame. She is only my wife." He lifted his lip, and his blue eyes
stared at the muffled culprit.
"We knew not you had a wife when you entered our service,
Klussman."

"Nor had I, madame. D'Aulnay de Charnisay had already taken her."
"Then this woman does come from D'Aulnay de Charnisay?"
"Yes, madame! And if you would have my advice, I say put her out of
the gate this instant, and let her find shelter with our Indians above the
falls."
"Madame," exclaimed Zélie, lifting the half-nude infant, and thrusting
it before her mistress with importunity which could wait no longer, "of
your kindness look at this little creature. With all my chafing and
sprinkling I cannot find any life in it. That girl hath let