“Ah, true,” and I could feel the trace of relief in his voice as he instantly recalled my story.  “You also sought a girl in this wilderness,—­may I ask, have you yet found trace of her?”

I heard Mademoiselle move quickly.

“A girl?” she asked in surprise.  “Here, at Dearborn?”

“She was at Dearborn until very lately, but they tell me now I must seek for her at the Kinzie house.  It was for the purpose of marking its position from the Fort that I came up here.”

For a moment no one of our voices broke the strained silence.  I was troubled by this knowledge of a pre-arranged meeting between these two, yet felt it was nothing with which I had a right to interfere.  This careless French girl, whom I had known for scarcely two days, was not one to be easily guided, even had I either reason or excuse for attempting it.

“’T is strange,” she said, musingly, “that she has never so much as spoken to me about it; yet she was always shy of speech in such matters.”

“Of whom do you speak, Toinette?” questioned De Croix.

“Of Master Wayland’s young friend with the Kinzies,” she answered, the old sprightliness again in her voice.  “I know her very well, Monsieur,—­a dear, sweet girl,—­and shall be only too glad to speed you on to her.  Yet ’t is not so easy of accomplishment, hemmed in as we are here now.  Yonder is the light, Master Wayland; but much of peril may lurk between.  ’Tis not far, were the way clear; indeed, in the old days of peace a rope ferry connected Fort and house, but now to reach there safely will require a wide detour and no little woodcraft.  There were patrols of savages along the river bank at dusk, and it is doubtful if all have been withdrawn.”

I looked as she pointed, and easily distinguished the one glittering spark that pierced the darkness to the north and east.  I wondered at her earlier words; yet they might all be true enough, for I knew nothing of this Elsa Matherson.  Before I could question further, De Croix had interfered,—­eager, no doubt, to be rid of me.

“Upon my soul!” he exclaimed recklessly, “if I could voyage here from Montreal to win but a smile, it should prove a small venture for our backwoods friend to cover yonder small distance. Sacre!  I would do the deed myself for one kiss from rosy lips.”

I have wondered since what there was about those words to anger me.  It must have been their boastful tone, the sarcasm that underlay the velvet utterance, which stung like salt in a fresh wound.  I felt that from the summit of his own success he durst laugh at me; and my blood boiled instantly.

“You are wondrous bold, Monsieur,” I retorted, “when the matter is wholly one of words.  I regret I cannot pledge you such reward, so that I might learn how you would bear yourself in the attempt.”

He stared at me haughtily across the shoulder of the girl, as it doubting he heard aright.