Part 3 (2/2)
”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 Zelie, 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 va.s.sal 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,” a.s.sented 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 antennae-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 pa.s.sed over the outside of his countenance, in bulk like himself. His lady often compared him to a n.o.ble 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.”
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