“What?  Oh, fie, Monsieur le Jesuit!” And madame laughed at his confusion.

“When I was eighteen.  That was before I took the orders.”  He picked up the oars again and pulled strongly and noiselessly.  His thought was far away just then:  when he was eighteen.

Anne, with her shoulders resting against madame’s knees, opened the book which Victor had given her on a Sunday the year before.  Sometimes Brother Jacques’s stroke beat rhythmically with the measures; sometimes the oars trailed through the water with a low, sweet murmur.  He could see nothing but those two fair faces.

They were nearing the heights of Sillery when Anne closed the book.  “And now for Hiawatha and his white canoe,” she said.

“Very well; I will tell you of the good Hiawatha, his daughter, and his white canoe.  He came from the sky one day, in this very wonderful canoe.  He had given up his rights as a deity in order to mingle with men and teach them wisdom.  He was the wisest of all Indians as Nestor was the wisest of all the Greeks.  As a god he was known as Taounyawatha, and he presided over the fisheries and the waterways.  Whenever there was dissension among the various nations of the Iroquois, it was his word which settled the dispute.  Grey-haired he was, penetration marked his eye, dark mystery pervaded his countenance.  One day there was internal war and great slaughter followed.  The wise men of the nations got together and summoned Hiawatha.  They built great council fires on the shores of Genentaha Lake, which we call Onondaga.  For three days these fires burned, but the great sage did not put in appearance, and nothing could be done without his counsel.  When at last messengers found him in his secret abode, he was in a most melancholy state of mind.  Great evil lay in his path, he said; and he had concluded not to attend the council at Genentaha.  But the messengers said that the great wise men could not proceed with business until the council was graced with his presence.  And if he did not come, annihilation awaited his children.”

Brother Jacques rested on his oars again.  Only his voice was with his narrative; his mind was filled with longing, the same longing which had always blocked his path to priestly greatness:  the love of women.

“So Hiawatha removed his sacred white canoe from the lodge built for it, and the messengers reverentially assisted him to launch it.  The wise man once again took his accustomed seat, and bade his daughter, a girl of twelve, and his heart’s darling, to accompany him.  She unhesitatingly obeyed; and together they made all possible speed toward the grand council ground.  At the approach of the venerable sage, a shout of joy resounded throughout the assembled host, and every demonstration of respect was paid to the illustrious one.  As he landed and was passing up the steep bank toward the council ground, a loud noise was heard, like the rushing of a mighty