“That appears to be final,” remarked the vicomte.  He was chagrined, but it was not noticeable in his tones.  “What industrious friend has acquainted you with the state of affairs?”

“I was watching your actions last night,” replied the major.

“And you saw the blow Monsieur du Cevennes struck me?” snarled D’Herouville.

“When you arrive again in Quebec, Messieurs, you may fight as frequently as you please; but here I am master.  I am giving you this warning in a friendly spirit, and I hope you will accept it as such.  Good evening.”

“Bah!” The vicomte slapped his sword angrily; “how many more acts are there to this comedy?  Eh, well, Chevalier, let us go and play dominoes with Monsieur Nicot.”

“All this is strangely fortunate for you two gentlemen,” said D’Herouville, as they moved toward the fort.

“Or for you, Monsieur d’Herouville,” the vicomte sent back.

Three days trickled through the waist of the glass of time.  The afternoon of the fourth day was sunless, and the warning of an autumn storm spoke from the flying grey clouds and the buoyant wind which blew steadily from the west.  Madame and her companion sat upon the shore, attracted by the combing swells as they sifted and shifted the yellow sand, deadwood, and weed.  Pallid greens and browns flashed hither and thither over the tops of the whispering rushes; and from their deeps the blackbird trilled a querulous note.  A flock of crows sped noisily along the shore, and a brace of loons winged toward the north in long and graceful loops of speed, and the last yellow butterflies of the year fluttered about the water’s edge.  Far away to the southwest the moving brown patch was a deer, brought there by his love of salt.  From behind, from the forest, came the faint song of the ax.  A short distance from the women Brother Jacques was mending a bark canoe; and from time to time he looked up from his labor and smiled at them.

The women were no longer in rags.  Atotarho had presented to them dresses which Huron captives had made for his favorite wife.  Not in many days had they laughed genuinely and with mirth; but the picture made for each other’s eyes,—­in fringed blouse, fringed skirt, fringed pantaloons,—­overcame their fugitive melancholy; and from that hour they brightened perceptibly.  Trouble never prolongs its acquaintance with youth, for the heart and shoulders of youth are strong.

Madame watched the quick movements of Brother Jacques’s arms.

“How strong this life makes a man!”

“And I should have died but for those strong arms of Brother Jacques.  What would we have done without him?” Anne shuddered as she recalled the long nights in the forests and upon the dark waters.

Far away madame discerned the Chevalier and Victor dragging logs toward the palisade.  “To the ends of the world!” A fear settled upon her and darkened for the nonce her new-found gaiety.  She was paying dearly for her mad caprice.  All these months she might have been snug in the Bearn Chateau or in Spain.  What lay behind the veil of days to come?  How she hated all these men!