The refugees were rested now and refreshed, and of one mind about pushing on.

“If the snow comes, it will be a thousand times more dangerous,” said Amos, “for we shall leave a track then that a papoose could follow.”

“And why should we fear?” urged old Ephraim.

“Truly this is a desert of salt, even though it lead to the vale of Hinnom, but we shall be borne up against these sons of Jeroboam.  Steer a straight course, lad, and jam your helm, for the pilot will see you safe.”

“And I am not frightened, Amory, and I am quite rested now,” said Adele.  “We shall be so much more happy when we are in the English Provinces, for even now, how do we know that that dreadful monk may not come with orders to drag us back to Quebec and Paris?”

It was indeed very possible that the vindictive Franciscan, when satisfied that they had not ascended to Montreal, or remained at Three Rivers, might seek them on the banks of the Richelieu.  When De Catinat thought of how he passed them in his great canoe that morning, his eager face protruded, and his dark body swinging in time to the paddles, he felt that the danger which his wife suggested was not only possible but imminent.  The seigneur was his friend, but the seigneur could not disobey the governor’s orders.  A great hand, stretching all the way from Versailles, seemed to hang over them, even here in the heart of the virgin forest, ready to snatch them up and carry them back into degradation and misery.  Better all the perils of the woods than that!

But the seigneur and his son, who knew nothing of their pressing reasons for haste, were strenuous in urging De Catinat the other way, and in this they were supported by the silent Du Lhut, whose few muttered words were always more weighty than the longest speech, for he never spoke save about that of which he was a master.

“You have seen my little place,” said the old nobleman, with a wave of his beruffled ring-covered hand.  “It is not what I should wish it, but such as it is, it is most heartily yours for the winter, if you and your comrades would honour me by remaining.  As to madame, I doubt not that my own dame and she will find plenty to amuse and occupy them, which reminds me, De Catinat, that you have not yet been presented.  Theuriet, go to your mistress and inform her that I request her to be so good as to come to us in the hall of the dais.”

De Catinat was too seasoned to be easily startled, but he was somewhat taken aback when the lady, to whom the old nobleman always referred in terms of exaggerated respect, proved to be as like a full-blooded Indian squaw as the hall of the dais was to a French barn.  She was dressed, it was true, in a bodice of scarlet taffeta with a black skirt, silver-buckled shoes, and a scented pomander ball dangling by a silver chain from her girdle, but her face was of the colour of the bark of the Scotch fir, while her strong nose and harsh mouth, with the two plaits of coarse black hair which dangled down her back, left no possible doubt as to her origin.