"I'd like to see you organize these parly-voos. There ain't a
dozen of 'em that wouldn't accept the English with open arms. I
know 'em. They're good hearted, polite and all that; they'll
hurrah for the flag; that's easy enough; but put 'em to the test
and they'll join in with the strongest side, see if they don't. Of
course there are a few exceptions. There's Jazon, he's all right,
and I have faith in Bosseron, and Legrace, and young Ronville."
"Roussillon--" Beverley began.
"Is much of a blow-hard," Helm interrupted with a laugh. "Barks
loud, but his biting disposition is probably not vicious."
"He and Father Beret control the whole population at all events,"
said Beverley.
"Yes, and such a population!"
While joining in Captain Helm's laugh at the expense of Vincennes,
Beverley took leave to indulge a mental reservation in favor of
Alice. He could not bear to class her with the crowd of noisy,
thoughtless, mercurial beings whom he heard still singing gay
snatches and calling to one another from distance to distance, as
they strolled homeward in groups and pairs. Nor could the
impending danger of an enforced surrender to the English and
Indians drive from his mind her beautiful image, while he lay for
the rest of the night between sleeping and waking on his primitive
bed, alternately hearing over again her every phrase and laugh,
and striving to formulate some definite plan for defending the
town and fort.
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