nest of wasps!"

I never saw more hate than shot out of Voban's eyes at that
moment; but the lids drooped over them at once, and he made ready
for his work, as Doltaire, putting aside his coat, seated himself,
laughing. There was no little daring, as there was cruelty, in thus
torturing a man whose life had been broken by Doltaire's associate.
I wondered now and then if Doltaire were not really putting acid on
the barber's bare nerves for some other purpose than mere general
cruelty. Even as he would have understood the peasant's murder of
King Louis, so he would have seen a logical end to a terrible game
in Bigot's death at the hand of Voban. Possibly he wondered that
Voban did not strike, and he himself took a delight in showing him
his own wrongs occasionally. Then, again, Doltaire might wish for
Bigot's death, to succeed him in his place! But this I put by as
improbable, for the Intendant's post was not his ambition, or,
favourite of La Pompadour as he was, he would, desiring, have
long ago achieved that end. Moreover, every evidence showed that
he would gladly return to France, for his clear brain foresaw the
final ruin of the colony and the triumph of the British. He had
once said in my hearing:

"Those swaggering Englishmen will keep coming on. They are too
stupid to turn back. The eternal sameness of it all will so
distress us we shall awake one morning, find them at our bedsides,
give a kick, and die from sheer ennui. They'll use our banners to
boil their fat puddings in, they'll roast oxen in the highways,
and after our girls have married them they'll turn them into
kitchen wenches with frowsy skirts and ankles like beeves!"