“Oh, as to that—­’twould be but the old story of the voyageurs,” said Joncaire.  “They are used enough to journeying a thousand miles or so, to find the trail end in a heap of ashes, and to the tune of a scalp dance.  Fear not for your lieutenant, for, believe me, he has fended for himself if there has been need.  Yet I would warrant you, now that this word for the peace has gone out, we shall see your friend Du Mesne as big as life at the Mountain next summer, knowing as much of your history as you yourself do, and quite counting upon meeting you with us on the St. Lawrence, and madame as well.  As to that, methinks madame will be better with us on the St. Lawrence than on the savage Messasebe.  We have none too many dames among us, and I need not state, what monsieur’s eyes have told him every morning—­that a fairer never set foot from ship from over seas.  Witness my lieutenant yonder, Raoul de Ligny!  He is thus soon all devotion!  Mother of God! but we are well met here, in this wilderness, among the savages. Voila, Monsieur!  We take you again captive, and ’tis madame enslaves us all!”

There had indeed ensued conversation between the young French officer above named and Mary Connynge; yet prompt as might have been the former with gallant attentions to so fair a captive, it could not have been said that he was allowed the first advances.  Mary Connynge, even after a month of starving foot travel and another month of anxiety at the Iroquois villages, had lost neither her rounded body, her brilliance of eye and color, nor her subtle magnetism of personality.  It had taken stronger head than that of Raoul de Ligny to withstand even her slight request.  How, then, as to Mary Connynge supplicating, entreating, craving of him protection?

“Ah, you brave Frenchmen,” said she to De Ligny, advancing to him as he stood apart, twisting his mustaches and not unmindful of this very possibility of a conversation with the captive.  “You brave Frenchmen, how can we thank you for our salvation?  It was all so horrible!”

“It is our duty to save all, Madame,” rejoined De Ligny; “our happiness unspeakable to save such as Madame.  I swear by my sword, I had as soon expected to find an angel with the Iroquois as to meet there Madame!  Quebec—­all Quebec has told me who Madame was and is.  And I am your slave.”

“Oh, sir, could you but mean that!” and there was turned upon him the full power of a gaze which few men had ever been able to withstand.  The blood of De Ligny tingled as he bowed and replied.

“If Madame could but demand one proof.”

Mary Connynge stepped closer to him.  “Hush!” she said.  “Speak low!  Do not let it seem that we are interested.  Keep your own counsel.  Can you do this?”

The eyes of the young officer gleamed.  He was bold enough to respond.  This his temptress noted.

He nodded.

“You see that man—­the tall one, John Law?  Listen!  It is from him I ask you to save me.  Oh, sir, there is my captivity!”