"Governor Hamilton sent a man to Roussillon place with orders to bring him the scabbard of Miss Roussillon's sword, and he now wears the beautiful weapon as if he had come by it honestly.

Damn him!" "My dear, dear son, you must not soil your lips with such language!" Father Beret let fall the half of a well bitten cake and held up both hands.
"I beg your pardon, Father; I know I ought to be more careful in your presence; but--but--the beastly, hellish scoundrel--" "Bah! doucement, mon fils, doucement." The old man shook his head and his finger while speaking.

"Easy, my son, easy.

You would be a fine target for bullets were your words to reach Hamilton's ears.

You are not permitted to revile your commander." "Yes, I know; but how can a man restrain himself under such abominable conditions ?" Father Beret shrewdly guessed that Hamilton had been giving the Captain fresh reason for bitter resentment.