His grip
ate into my arm.
I reached up, and unclasped his fingers. "Unhand me!" I grumbled. "I
must be on my way."
But he paid no heed. "You mean this?" he reiterated, taking a fresh
grip. "The prisoner will hamper you."
I tore my arm away. "Hamper me!" I jerked out. "He will clog me,
manacle me! But it is the only thing to do. Now go, while this mood
holds with me. Five minutes hence I may not see things in this way. Go!
I will arrange the escape. You, as commandant, must not connive with me
at that. Go to the Indians, and make your terms. If you can hold them
off till moonrise, I promise you the prisoner shall be gone."
But Cadillac would not hasten. He gave me the long estimating glance
that I had seen him use once before. "Montlivet," he said, with his arm
across my shoulder, "you are doing a great thing; a great thing for
France. No man could serve his country more fully than you are doing at
this moment. It is an obscure deed, but a momentous one. No one can
tell what you may be doing for the empire by helping us through this
crisis."
But I was in no mood for heroics. "I am not doing this for France," I
cried irritably. "I live to serve France, yes; but I want to serve her
in my own way.
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