“And you honour women for their sake?”

“We always honour women over there.  Perhaps it is that we have so few.  Over in these old countries you have not learned what it is to be without them.  I have been away up the lakes for furs, living for months on end the life of a savage among the wigwams of the Sacs and the Foxes, foul livers and foul talkers, ever squatting like toads around their fires.  Then when I have come back to Albany where my folk then dwelt, and have heard my sisters play upon the spinet and sing, and my mother talk to us of the France of her younger days and of her childhood, and of all that they had suffered for what they thought was right, then I have felt what a good woman is, and how, like the sunshine, she draws out of one’s soul all that is purest and best.”

“Indeed, the ladies should be very much obliged to monsieur, who is as eloquent as he is brave,” said Adele Catinat, who, standing in the open door, had listened to the latter part of his remarks.

He had forgotten himself for the instant, and had spoken freely and with energy.  At the sight of the girl, however, he coloured up again, and cast down his eyes.

“Much of my life has been spent in the woods,” said he, “and one speaks so little there that one comes to forget how to do it.  It was for this that my father wished me to stay some time in France, for he would not have me grow up a mere trapper and trader.”

“And how long do you stop in Paris?” asked the guardsman.

“Until Ephraim Savage comes for me.”

“And who is he?”

“The master of the Golden Rod.”

“And that is your ship?”

“My father’s ship.  She has been to Bristol, is now at Rouen, and then must go to Bristol again.  When she comes back once more, Ephraim comes to Paris for me, and it will be time for me to go.”

“And how like you Paris?”

The young man smiled.  “They told me ere I came that it was a very lively place, and truly from the little that I have seen this morning, I think that it is the liveliest place that I have seen.”

“By my faith,” said De Catinat, “you came down those stairs in a very lively fashion, four of you together with a Dutch clock as an avant-courier, and a whole train of wood-work at your heels.  And you have not seen the city yet?”

“Only as I journeyed through it yester-evening on my way to this house.  It is a wondrous place, but I was pent in for lack of air as I passed through it.  New York is a great city.  There are said to be as many as three thousand folk living there, and they say that they could send out four hundred fighting-men, though I can scarce bring myself to believe it.  Yet from all parts of the city one may see something of God’s handiwork—­the trees, the green of the grass, and the shine of the sun upon the bay and the rivers.  But here it is stone and wood, and wood and stone, look where you will.  In truth, you must be very hardy people to keep your health in such a place.”