"It is not altogether completed," he said, nervously. "Of course the
detail will be worked out more fully, and the cross should be given a
warmer radiance. Perhaps a light showing through the windows of the
chapel--"

"Who is it?" asked Menard.

"It is Catherine Outasoren, the Lily of the Onondagas," replied the
priest; "the noblest woman that ever rose from the depths of Indian
superstition."

Menard's eyes rested on an obscure signature in a lower corner, "C. de
C."

"You certainly have reason to be proud of the work. But may I ask
about the perspective? Should the maiden appear larger than the
chapel?"

The priest gazed at the painting with an unsettled expression.

"Yes," he said, "perhaps you are right, M'sieu. At any rate I will
give the matter thought and prayer."

"And the Indians," Menard questioned, "in the canoe; are they coming
toward the chapel or going away from it? It seems to me that any doubt
on that point should be removed."

"Ah," said the priest; "that very doubt is allegorical. It typifies
the workings of the human mind when first confronted by the truth.
When the seeker first beholds the light, as shown through the devotion
of such a woman as Catherine Outasoren, there arises in his mind--"

"Very true, very true! But I never yet have seen a canoe-load of
Indians in doubt whether they were moving forward or backward."

Father Claude held the canvas at arm's length and gazed long at it.

"Tell me, M'sieu," he said at last, "do you think it deserving of a
place in the College?"

"I do not see why not."

"And you think I would be justified in laying a request before the
Superior?"

Menard shrugged his shoulders.

"That is your decision, Father."

"I never can fully thank you, my son, for your kindness in looking on
my humble work. I will not decide to-day. First I must add foliage in
the foreground. And I will give it my earnest prayer."

Menard said farewell and went out, leaving the priest gazing at the
picture. He strolled back toward the citadel, stopping now and then to
greet an old friend or a chance acquaintance. When he arrived at the
headquarters in the citadel he found Danton, a brown-haired young
lieutenant of engineers, gazing at a heap of plans and other papers on
the table.

"Well, Captain Menard," was his greeting, "I'd give half of last
year's pay, if I ever get it, to feel as lazy as you look."

"You are lazy enough," growled Menard.

"That begs the quest