"The voyage has been unusually prosperous, Captain Bouchard says. We
sight Acadia in less than twenty days. It will be colder then, for
huge icebergs come floating about in the water. We shall undoubtedly
reach Quebec by June. The captain says that it is all nonsense about
pirates. They never come so far north as this. I wonder if roses grow
in this new country? I shall miss the lattice-covered summer-house."
"There will be roses, Breton, but the thorns will be large and fierce.
A month and a half before we reach our destination! It is very long."
"You see, Monsieur, we sail up a river toward the inland seas. If we
might sail as we sail here, it would take but a dozen days to pass
Acadia. But they tell me that this river is a strange one. Many rocks
infest it, and islands grow up or disappear in a night."
The Chevalier fingered the quilt and said nothing. By and by his eyes
closed, and Breton, thinking his master had fallen asleep, again picked
up his book. But he could not concentrate his thought upon it. He was
continually flying over the sea to old Martin's daughter, to the grey
château nestling in the green hills. He was not destined long to
dream. There was a rap on the door, and Brother Jacques entered.
"My son," he said to Breton, "leave us."