Love, as he thus spoke of it, was almost an unknown term to me then; and, in truth, I scarcely grasped the full significance of his meaning.

“You seek some lady, then, at Fort Dearborn?” I asked, for his tone seemed to invite the inquiry.

“Ay!” with quickened enthusiasm; “’tis there Toinette has hidden herself for this year or more,—­Toinette, on my word as a French soldier, the fairest maid of Montreal.  I have just discovered her whereabouts, yet I shall win her ere I traverse these trails again, or I am not Villiers de Croix.”

“I travel thither to bring back a little orphan child with me,” I explained simply, in response to his look, “and will most gladly aid you where I can.”

Before he could answer, Hawkins, a gaunt, silent frontiersman, together with Sam, entered the room, bearing between them our evening meal.

CHAPTER IV

CAPTAIN WELLS OF FORT WAYNE

We tarried at the table a considerable time,—­not because of any tempting variety in the repast, as the food furnished was of the coarsest, but for the sake of companionship, and because we discovered much of passing interest to converse about.  De Croix had travelled widely, and had seen a great variety of life both in camp and court.  He proved a vivacious fellow, full of amusing anecdote,—­a bottle of rich wine drawn from his own private stock so stimulating his imagination that I had little to do but sit and listen.  Yet he contrived to learn from me,—­how, I hardly know,—­the simple story of my life, and, indeed, assumed a certain air of patronizing superiority, boasting unduly of his wider experience and achievements in a way that somewhat nettled me at last, as I began to comprehend that he was merely showing off his genteel graces the better to exhibit his contempt for my provincial narrowness.  I did not permit this really to anger me, for our views upon such matters were totally different, and I could not help feel admiration for the brilliant and audacious fellow.

The black waited upon us while we ate and drank, moving noiselessly across the rough floor, so keenly observant of his master’s slightest wish as to convince me the latter possessed a temper which upon occasion burst its bounds.  Yet now he was surely in the best of humors; and with the coming of our second bottle, after the remains of the repast had been removed, he sang several love-songs in his native tongue, the meaning of which I could only guess at.

“Saint Guise!” he exclaimed at last, flinging one booted foot over the table corner.  “You are a very sphinx of a fellow.  You deny being English, yet you have all the silence of that nation.  I am hungry, Monsieur, for the sweet sound of the French tongue.”

“’T is a language of which I know little,” I answered, striving to speak pleasantly, although his manner was becoming less and less to my liking.  “I have met with your coureurs de bois in plenty, and picked up sufficient of their common phrases to enable me to converse on ordinary themes with them; yet I confess I find it difficult to follow your speech.”