Madame Ursule was waiting for me, on the gallery with fluted pillars at the front of the house.

“M’s’r Williams, where is Madeleine?”

Her anxiety vibrated through the darkness.

“Isn’t she here, madame?”

“She has not been seen to-day.”

We stood in silence, then began to speak together.

“But, madame—­”

“M’s’r Williams—­”

“I went away early—­”

“When I heard from the Pawnees that you had gone off on horseback so early I thought it possible you might have taken her with you.”

“Madame, how could I do that?”

“Of course you wouldn’t have done that.  But we can’t find her.  We’ve inquired all over La Baye.  She left the house when no one saw her.  She was never out after nightfall before.”

“But, madame, she must be here!”

“Oh, m’s’r, my hope was that you knew where she is—­she has followed you about so!  The poor child may be at the bottom of the river!”

“She can’t be at the bottom of the river!” I retorted.

The girls ran out.  They were dressed for a dance, and drew gauzy scarfs around their anxious faces.  The house had been searched from ground to attic more than once.  They were sure she must be hiding from them.

I remembered the figure that appeared to me on the trail.  My heart stopped.  I could not humiliate my Cloud-Mother by placing her before them in the act of tracking me like a dog.  I could not tell any one about it, but asked for Skenedonk.

The Indian had been out on the river in a canoe.  He came silently, and stood near me.  The book was between us.  I had it in the breast of my coat, and he had it on his conscience.

“Bring out your horse and get me a fresh one,” I said.

“Where shall I find one?”

“Pierre will give you one of ours,” said Madame Ursule.  “But you must eat.”

“I had my supper with the officers of the fort, madame.  I would have made a briefer stay if I had known what had happened on this side of the river.”

“I forgot to tell you, M’s’r Williams, there is an abbe here from Europe.  He asked for you.”

“I cannot see him to-night.”

Skenedonk drew near me to speak, but I was impatient of any delay.  We went into the house, and Madame Ursule said she would bring a blanket and some food to strap behind my saddle.  The girls helped her.  There was a hush through the jolly house.  The master bustled out of the family room.  I saw behind him, standing as he had stood at Mittau, a priest of fine and sweet presence, waiting for Pierre Grignon to speak the words of introduction.

“It is like seeing France again!” exclaimed the master of the house.  “Abbe Edgeworth, this is M’s’r Williams.”

“Monsieur,” said the abbe to me with perfect courtesy, “believe me, I am glad to see you.”

“Monsieur,” I answered, giving him as brief notice as he had given me in Mittau, yet without rancor;—­there was no room in me for that.  “You have unerringly found the best house in the Illinois Territory, and I leave you to the enjoyment of it.”