._

He carried a handful of bits of magic mushroom in a saddlebag, but
several times since his spirit journey the White Bear had spoken to him
without the help of the mushroom and without his mind leaving his body.
All he needed to do, sometimes, was sit quietly and listen. He waited
now, sometimes looking at Pierre, sometimes looking at the twigs and
moss and grass on the ground.

_Perhaps no spirit can reach me here in the land of the pale eyes._

He was about to give up and get to his feet. He would beg Pierre to let
him go back to the Sauk.

Then a voice spoke deep and clear in his mind, and it was not his
voice.

_Go and meet your grandfather._

A warmth spread from the center of his body to hands and feet that a
moment ago had been icy with fear. Knowing that he had not left his
spirit helper behind when he left Saukenuk gave him new confidence.

He held out his hands, palms up. "Let us go to meet my grandfather."

The smile on Pierre's long face mirrored the glow Auguste felt inside
himself.

They remounted and rode around to a gateway in the west side of the
fence surrounding the house. Auguste, with his newfound strength,
endured the curious stares of the men and women gathered at the gate to
greet Pierre.

"Look, your grandfather is waiting for you," said Pierre, his voice
ringing with joy.

Before a doorway sheltered by its own wooden roof, an old man, a very
stout young woman and a plump young man awaited them.

The old man's eyes were blue like Pierre's but they seemed to glitter
and to see deeply into Auguste. He was tall and thin and slightly
stooped with age. His clothes were simple--a black jacket over a white
shirt, and black trousers that tightened below his knees and ended in
straps that ran under shiny black shoes. He leaned on a black stick with
a silver head.

His heart fluttering with excitement, Auguste got down from his horse
and took a tentative step forward. The old man approached him, his
expression as fierce as a hawk's. He looked hard into Auguste's face.

The old man spoke to him in a language of the pale eyes, so rapidly that
Auguste could not hope to understand him.

Pierre said, "Your grandfather says he sees at once that you are a
member of our family. He sees it in the shape of your eyes. He sees it
in your nose, in your chin. He sees that like all de Marion men you are
very tall."

"What is my grandfather's name?" Auguste asked.

"He is the Chevalier Elysee de