spring, not a hundred yards up the hillside, a
brook came tumbling to the river, picking its way under and over the
stones and the fallen trees, and trickling over the bank with a low
murmur. The maid stopped by a pool, and kneeling on a flat rock,
dipped her hands.

The others were asleep. A rod away lay Danton, a sprawling heap in his
blanket. Menard rose, tossed his blanket upon his bundle, and walked
slowly down toward the maid.

"Mademoiselle, you rise with the birds."

She looked around, and laughed gently. He saw that she had frankly
accepted the first little change in their relations.

"I like to be with the birds, M'sieu."

Menard had no small talk. He was thinking of her evident lack of
sleep.

"It is the best hour for the river, Mademoiselle." The colours of the
dawn were beginning to creep up beyond the eastern bank, sending a
lance of red and gold into a low cloud bank, and a spread of soft
crimson close after. "Perhaps you are fond of the fish?"

The maid was kneeling to pick a cluster of yellow flower cups. She
looked up and nodded, with a smile.

"We fished at home, M'sieu."

"We will go," said Menard, abruptly. "I will bring down the canoe."

He threw the blankets to one side, and stooping under the long canoe,
carried it on his shoulders to the water. A line and hook were in his
bundle; the bait was ready at a turn of the grass and weeds.

"We are two adventurers," he said lightly, as he tossed the line into
the canoe, and held out one of the paddles. "You should do your share
of the morning's work, Mademoiselle."

She laughed again, and took the paddle. They pushed off; the maid
kneeling at the bow, Menard in the stern. He guided the canoe against
the current. The water lay flat under the still air, reflecting the
gloomy trees on the banks, and the deepening colours of the sky. He
fell into a lazy, swinging stroke, watching the maid. Her arms and
shoulders moved easily, with the grace of one who had tumbled about a
canoe from early childhood.

"Ready, Mademoiselle?" He was heading for a deep pool near a line of
rushes. The maid, laying down her paddle, reached back for the line,
and put on the bait with her own fingers.

Menard held the canoe steady against the current, which was there but
a slow movement, while she lowered the hook over the bow. They sat
without a word for some minutes. Once he spoke, in a bantering voice,
and she motioned to him to be quiet. Her brows were drawn do