, and was watching him with
kindling eyes. She took the roll and the mirror, and ran out the door.
In a moment, Menard, pacing the floor, could hear her merry laugh, and
the shrill-voiced delight of the children over their new toy. He
caught the priest's hand.

"Father, we shall yet be free. Who could fail with such a lieutenant
as that maid. How she laughs. One would think she had never a care."

At last she came back, and sank, with a nervous, irresponsible little
laugh, on the bench. And then, for the moment, they all three laughed
together.

In the silence that followed, Father Claude moved toward the door.

"I must go out again, M'sieu. It may be that there is further word."

"Very well, Father. And open your ears for news of the poor boy."

The priest bowed, and went out. Menard stood in the door watching him,
as he walked boldly along the path. After a little he turned. The maid
was looking at him, still flushed and smiling.

"Well, Mademoiselle, we can take hope again."

"You are so brave, M'sieu."

He smiled at her impulsiveness, and looked at her, hardly conscious
that he was causing her to blush and lower her eyes.

"And so I am brave, Mademoiselle? It may be that Major Provost and
Major d'Orvilliers will not feel so."

"But they must, M'sieu."

"Do you know what they will say? They will speak with sorrow of
Captain Menard, the trusted, in whose hands Governor Denonville placed
the most important commission ever given to a captain in New France.
They will regret that their old friend was not equal to the test; that
he--ah, do not interrupt, Mademoiselle; it is true--that his failure
lost a campaign for New France. You heard Father Claude; you know what
these Indians plan to do."

"You must not speak so, M'sieu. It is wicked. He would be a coward who
could blame you. It was not your fault that you were captured. When I
return I shall go to them and tell them how you fought, and how you
faced them like--like a hero. When I return--" She stopped, as if the
word were strange.

"Aye, Mademoiselle, and God grant that you may return soon. But your
good heart leads you wrong. It was my fault that I did not bring a
force strong enough to protect myself,--and you. To fight is not a
soldier's first duty. It is to be discreet; he must know when not to
fight as well as when to draw his sword; he must know how many men are
needed to defend his cause. No; I was overconfident, and I lost. And
there we must