“You have been here scarce more than a week.”

Madame did not reply.

At four her calm and even spirits returned; and the thought of seeing France again filled her with subdued gaiety.  The sun was nearing the forests’ tops when the two women sauntered down to the river front, to put about the governor’s pleasure boat.  They put blankets and mats into the skiff and were about to push off, when Brother Jacques approached them.

“Now, what may he want?” asked Anne, in a whisper.

“You are going for a row upon the river?” asked Brother Jacques, respectfully.

“Yes, Brother Jacques,” replied Anne.  “Is not the water beautiful and inviting?”

“I would not venture far,” he said.  “Iroquois have been reported in the vicinity of Orleans.”

“We intend to row as far as Sillery and back.  There can be no danger in that.”

Brother Jacques looked doubtful.

“And are not the Iroquois our friends?” asked madame.  “Are not Frenchmen building a city in the heart of their kingdom?”

Brother Jacques smiled sadly.  “Madame, I should not be surprised to learn on the morrow that the expedition to Onondaga had already been exterminated.”

“You, of all persons, should be loyal to the Indian,” replied Anne, arranging the mats in the bottom of the boat.

“Mademoiselle, I know him thoroughly.  That is why I undertake to warn you.  The rattlesnake which you dread is less terrible to me than the Iroquois.  My duty, not my inclination, makes me walk among them.”

“We promise not to go beyond sight of the warehouses.”

“Come with us,” said Anne.  “We will read to you and you will in turn tell us the legend of Hiawatha, so long delayed.”

“If madame is agreeable,” replied the priest, his heart beating a trifle faster than normal:  he was human, and these two women were beautiful.

“Come with us, by all means,” said madame graciously.

“You will sit in the stern, Gabrielle,” said the admiral’s granddaughter; “I shall sit on the mat, as the Indian says, and Brother Jacques shall take the oars.  And take care that we do not run away with you.”

“I am not afraid,” returned Brother Jacques, a secret happiness possessing him.  “Besides, I can swim.”  He recognized the danger of beauty in close proximity, but he unwisely forgot the dangers of time and place.  How much rarer the world becomes to the man who has seen flower gardens and beautiful women moving to and fro among them!  Ah, that ragged, rugged highway which he had traversed:  dry crusts of life, buffets, bramble, curses and mockery.  And here was realized one of his idle dreams.  He took a dozen long strokes, which sent the craft up stream in the direction of Sillery, and let the oars drift.  “You were to read a book?” he asked.

“It would burn your godly ears,” said madame:  “Malherbe.”

“I have read him,” quietly.