ana. St. Denis
was in France at the time, and had great faith in La Salle. Of course,
now that La Salle has not been heard from, and the debts are all past
due without even a rumour of success to make them good--you can
imagine the rest. The seignory has been seized. St. Denis has
nothing."

"Has he a family?" asked Menard.

"A daughter. His wife is dead. He came here after you left last night,
and again this morning. We are old friends, and I have been trying to
help him. He is going to sail to-day on _Le Fourgon_ for Paris to see
what he can save from the wreck. My house is crowded with the officers
who are here planning the campaign; but St. Denis has a cousin living
at Frontenac, Captain la Grange, and we've got to get Valerie there
somehow. Do you think it will be safe?"

"It's a hard trip, you know; but it's safe enough."

"I shan't forget your kindness, Menard. The girl is a spirited little
thing, and she takes it hard. Madame has set her heart on getting her
to La Grange. I don't know all the details myself."

"I think we can arrange it, Major. We start in an hour."

"She will be there. You are a splendid fellow, Menard. Good-bye."

Menard's face was less amiable once he was away from the house. He
knew from experience the disagreeable task that lay before him. But
there was nothing to be said, so he went to his quarters and took a
last look at the orders. Then taking off his coat and his rough shirt,
he placed the papers carefully in a buckskin bag, which he hung about
his neck.

Everything was ready at the wharf. The long canoe lay waiting, a
_voyageur_ at each end. The bales were stowed carefully in the centre.
Father de Casson met Menard at the upper end of the dock. He had come
down by way of the winding road, for his bundle was heavy, and he knew
no way but to carry it himself. Menard good-naturedly gave him a hand
as they crossed the dock. When they had set it down, and Menard
straightened up, his eyes twinkled, for young Danton, in his finery,
was nervously walking back and forth at the edge of the dock, looking
fixedly into the canoe, apparently inspecting the bales. His shoulders
were unused to the musket, and by a quick turn he had brought the
muzzle under the rim of his hat, setting it on the side of his head.
His face was red.

Sitting on a bundle, a rod away, was a girl, perhaps eighteen or
nineteen years old, wearing a simple travelling dress. Her hands were
clasped tightly in her lap,