I have heaped
the window-seats with soft furs, and one of these I prize most
rarely. It was a gift--and whose, think you? Even a poor soldier's.
You see I have not all friends among the great folk. I often lie
upon that soft robe of sable--ay, sable, Master Robert--and think
of him who gave it to me. Now I know you are jealous, and I can see
your eyes flash up. But you shall at once be soothed. It is no other
than Gabord's gift. He is now of the Governor's body-guard, and
I think is by no means happy, and would prefer service with the
Marquis de Montcalm, who goes not comfortably with the Intendant
and the Governor.
One day Gabord came to our house on the ramparts, and, asking
for me, blundered out, "Aho, what shall a soldier do with sables?
They are for gentles and for wrens to snuggle in. Here comes a
Russian count oversea, and goes mad in tavern. Here comes Gabord,
and saves count from ruddy crest for kissing the wrong wench. Then
count falls on Gabord's neck, and kisses both his ears, and gives
him sables, and crosses oversea again; and so good-bye to count and
his foolery.
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