He stepped
forward. "This is Monsieur de Montlivet?"
I could do no less than bow, but I kept my hand by my side. "And you,
monsieur?"
He smiled as at one indulging a childish skirmish of wits; but
controlled as his face was, I could see the relief that overspread it
at my admission. "My name is Starling. I have a packet for you,
monsieur," and he handed me Cadillac's letter.
I hated the farce of the whole affair, and when I ran my eye over
Cadillac's message, which I could forecast word for word, I felt like a
play-acting fool. But I read it and put it in my pocket.
"You have had a long trip, Lord Starling," I said, with some show of
courtesy. "It is new to see a man of your nation in this land!"
He waved me and my words into limbo.
"Where is the Englishman,--the prisoner?"
A folded blanket lay beside the canoe, and I shook it out and spread it
on the dew-drenched grass. "Will you sit, Lord Starling? Forgive me
if I smoke. It is unusual grace to meet a man of my own station, and I
would enjoy it in my own way. Will you do the same? I see you have
your pipe."
He swung his great arm like a war club. "Where is the prisoner?"
I sat on the red blanket and filled my pipe.
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