All the restraint that the last
weeks had taught her had come back to her look.
"You wield great power," she repeated. "You are to be the leader of
the west. I see that. But oh, be careful! Good-night, monsieur."
CHAPTER XXV
OVER CADILLAC'S TABLE
I found Cadillac writing, writing. Letters were his safety valve. I
had only to look at his table to see how much he was perturbed.
And when I sat across from him, with the candles between, I saw that he
was also perplexed. That was unusual, for commonly he was off-hand in
his judgments, and leaped to conclusions like a pouncing cat. He
looked at me through the candle-gloom and shook his head.
"Montlivet, you have lost twenty pounds since I saw you, and aged. Out
on you, man! It is not worth it. We live ten years in one in this
wilderness. We throw away our youth. Then we go back to France and
find ourselves old men, worn out, uncouth, out at elbows, at odds with
our generation. It is not worth it. It is not worth it, I say."
I was impatient. "What has happened since the Senecas came?"
He made a tired grimace. "Principally that I have not slept," he
yawned.
"You have seen no signs of an uprising?"
He put his head between his hands, and I saw that he was indeed weary.
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