that
what comes so easily to other men is never to come to me. I cannot ask
that now."

She looked at him, and a sudden glow came into her eyes.

"Why not?" she whispered, as if frightened.

"Why not," he repeated, for an instant meeting her gaze. Then he rose
and stood before her. "Because I have given an oath to bring Captain
la Grange to punishment. You heard me. But you did not hear what I
promised to Father Claude. I have sworn that what the Governor may
refuse to do, I shall do myself. I have set my hand against your
family."

"You could not help it, M'sieu,--you could not help it," she said. But
the light was going out of her eyes. It had been a moment of weakness
for both of them. She looked up at him, standing erect in the faint
light, and the sight of his square, broad shoulders seemed to give her
strength. He was the strong one; he had always been the strong one.
She rose and leaned back against the logs. She found that she could
face him bravely.

"He is your cousin," he had just said in a dry voice.

"Yes, he is my cousin."

Menard was steadily recovering himself.

"We will not give all up. You know that I love you,--I hope that you
love me." He hesitated for an instant, but she gave no sign. "We will
keep the two flowers. We will always think of this day, and yesterday.
I have no duty now but to get you safe to Frontenac; until you are
there I must not speak again. As for the rest of it, we can only wait,
and trust that some day there may be some light."

She looked at him sadly.

"You do not know? Father Claude has not told you?"

Something in her voice brought him a step nearer.

"You know that Captain la Grange is my cousin?"

"Yes."

"You did not know that I am to be his wife?"

They stood face to face, looking deep into each other's eyes, while a
long minute dragged by, and the rustling night sounds and the call of
the crickets came to their ears.

"No," he said, "I did not know. May I keep the flower, Mademoiselle?"

She bowed her head. She could not speak.

"Good-night."

"Good-night."

He walked away. She saw him stop at the knoll where the priest lay
asleep on a bed of boughs, and stand for a moment gazing down at him.
Then he went into the shadows. From the crackling of the twigs she
knew that he was walking about among the trees. She sank to the ground
and listened to the crickets. A frog bellowed in the valley; perhaps
he had been calling before--she did not know.