“Gabrielle, in the old days you were not quite fair to me.”

“I know it, Victor; pardon, pardon,” pressing his hand.  “I am very unhappy over what I have done.”  As, indeed, she was.

“Do you love the Chevalier?” he asked, quietly.

“Love him?” The scorn which may be thrown into two words!  “Love him, Victor?” She laughed.  “As I love the vicomte; as I love D’Herouville!  Victor, I am proud.  Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes ground a portrait of mine under his heel . . . . without so much as a glance at it.  Neither my vanity nor my pride will forgive that.”

“He did not know.  Had he but glanced at that miniature, he would have sought you to the ends of the world.  Gabrielle, Gabrielle! how could he help it?”

“If you talk like that, Victor, you will make me cry.  I am wretched.  Why did I leave France?”

“I am very curious to know,” with a faint smile.  “You were to become a nun?”

“But the sight of those grim walls of the Ursulines!”

“Mademoiselle de Vaudemont intends to enter them.”

“She is not frivolous, changeable, inconsistent, like me.”

“Nor so lovable!” he whispered.

“What did you say then?” she asked.

“Nothing.  I will do what I can to aid you to avoid those you dislike.”  And how, with madame here, to keep these three men from killing each other?  He would that morning speak to Du Puys.  The soldier might find a way.

“Victor, what has Monsieur le Chevalier done that he comes to this land?”

“He and his father had a difference of opinion; that is all I can say.”

“But here, in this wilderness!  Why not back to Paris, where Mazarin restored him to favor?”

“Who can explain?”

The day wore on.  Madame was very successful in her manoeuvers to keep out of the way of her persecutors, as she had now come to call them.  They saw her only at the evening meal, seated at a table some distance from the regular mess; and the presence of the Father Superior kept them from approaching.

It was a brave meal; the Frenchmen noisy and hungry, the priests austere and quiet, the Indian converts solemnly impressed by their new dignity.  When the meal was over and the women had repaired to their cabin for the night.  Major du Puys signified that he desired to speak in private to Messieurs d’Herouville, d’Halluys, and du Cevennes; and they wonderingly followed him into the inclosure.

“Messieurs,” began the major, “there must he no private quarrels here.  Men found with drawn swords shall be shot the following morning without the benefit of court-martial.”

“Monsieur!” exclaimed D’Herouville.

The Chevalier stamped restlessly, and the vicomte frowned.

“Have the patience to hear me through.  There is ill-blood between you three.  The cause does not interest me, but here my word is law.  The safety of the mission depends wholly upon our order and harmony.  The savage is always quarreling, and he looks with awe upon the tranquillity with which we go about our daily affairs.  To maintain this awe there must be no private quarrels.  Digest this carefully.  Draw your weapons in a duel, just or unjust, and I promise to have you shot.”