Victor grasped the Chevalier’s hand.  There are some friendships which are expressed not by the voice, but by the pressure of a hand, a kindling glance of the eye.  Brother Jacques moved on.  He saw that for the present he had no part in these two lives.

“Look!” Victor cried, suddenly, pointing toward the harbor towers.

“Jehan?” murmured the Chevalier.  “Good old soul!  Is he waving his hand, Victor?  The sun . . .  I can not see.”

“Do you suppose your father . . .”

“Who?” calmly.

“Ah!  Well, then, Monsieur le Marquis:  do you suppose he has sent Jehan to verify the report that you sail for Quebec?”

“I do not suppose anything, Victor.  As for Monsieur le Marquis, I have already ceased to hate him.  How beautiful the sea is!  And yet, contemplate the horror of its rolling over your head, beating your life out on the reefs.  All beautiful things are cruel.”

“But you are glad, Paul,” affectionately, “that I am with you?”

“Both glad and sorry.  For after a time you will return, leaving me behind.”

“Perhaps.  And yet who can say that we both may not return, only with fame marching on ahead to announce us in that wonderfully pleasing way she has?”

“It is your illusions that I love, Victor:  I see myself again in you.  Keep to your ballades, your chant-royals, your triolets; you will write an epic whenever you lose your illusions; and epics by Frenchmen are dull and sorry things.  When you go below tell Breton to unpack my portmanteau.”

On the wharf nearest the vessel stood two women, hooded so as to conceal their faces.

“There, Gabrielle; you have asked to see the Chevalier du Cevennes, that is he leaning against the railing.”

“So that is the Chevalier.  And he goes to Quebec.  In mercy’s name, what business has he there?”

“You are hurting my arm, dear.  Victor would not tell me why he goes to Quebec.”

“Ah, if he goes out of friendship for Victor, it is well.”

“Is he not handsome?”

“Melancholy handsome, after the pattern of the Englishman’s Hamlet.  I like a man with a bright face.  When does the Henri IV sail?” suddenly.

“Two weeks from to-morrow.  To-morrow is Fools’ Day.”

“Why, then, do not those on yonder ship sail to-morrow instead of to-day?”

“You were not always so bitter.”

“I must have my jest.  To-morrow may have its dupes as well as its fools. . . .  Silence!  The Comte d’Herouville in Rochelle?  I am lost if he sees me.  Let us go!” And Madame de Brissac dragged her companion back into the crowd.  “That man here?  Anne, you must hide me well.”

“Why do you ask about the gloomy ship which is to take me to Quebec?” asked Anne, her curiosity aroused of a sudden.

Madame put a finger against her lips.  “I shall tell you presently.  Just now I must find a hiding place immediately.  He must not know that I am here.  He must have traced me here.  Oh! am I not in trouble enough without that man rising up before me?  I am afraid of him, Anne.”