"When are we to be returned to Quebec? I am weary, very weary, of all
this. There are no wits; men have no tongues, but purposes."
"Whenever Father Chaumonot thinks it safe and men can be spared, he
will make preparations. It will be before the winter sets in."
Madame sat down upon an adjacent boulder, and reflected.
"Shall I gather you some chestnuts, Madame? They are not so ripe as
they might be, but I daresay the novelty of eating them here in the
wilderness will appeal to your appetite."
"If you will be so kind," grudgingly.
So he set to work gathering the nuts while she secretly took off her
moccasin in a vain attempt to discover the disquieting bur-needles. He
returned presently and deposited a hatful of nuts in her lap. Then he
went back to his seat from where he watched her calmly as she munched
the starchy meat. It gradually dawned on him that the situation was
absurd; and he permitted a furtive smile to soften his firm lips. But
furtive as it was, she saw it, and colored, her quick intuition
translating the smile.
"It is absurd; truthfully, it is." She swept the nuts to the ground.
"But supposing I change all this into something more than absurd?
Supposing I should suddenly take you in my arms? There is no one in
sight. I am strong. Supposing, then, I kissed you, taking a tithe of
your promises?"
She looked at him uneasily. Starting a fire was all very well, but the
touch of it!
"Supposing that I took you away somewhere, alone, with me, to a place
where no one would find us? I do not speak, you say; but I am
thinking, thinking, and every thought means danger to you, to myself,
to the past and the future. How do these suppositions appeal to you,
Madame?"
Had he moved, madame would have been frightened; but as he remained in
the same easy attitude, her fear had no depths.
"But I shall do none of these things because . . . because it would be
hardly worth while. I tried to win your love honestly; but as I
failed, let us say no more about it. I shall make no inquiries into
your peculiar purpose; since you have accomplished it, there is nothing
more to be said, save that you are not honest."
"Let us be going," she said, standing. "It will be twilight ere we
reach the settlement."
"Very well;" and he halloed for Victor.
The way back to the fort was one of unbroken silence. Neither madame
nor the Chevalier spoke again.
The Chevalier had some tasks to perform that evening which employed his
time far beyond the meal hour. When he entered the mess-room it was
deserted save for the presence of Corporal Frémin, one of the
dissatisfied colonists. Several times he had been found unduly under
the influence of apricot brandy. Du Puys had placed him in the
guardhouse at three different periods for this misdemeanor. Where he
got the brandy none could tell, and the corporal would not confess to
the Jesuit Fathers, nor to his brother, who was a priest.
Unfortunately, he had been drinking again to-day. He sat opposite the
Chevalier, smoking moodily, his little eyes blinking, blinking.