delinette drooped a little, and Madame
Marie, who had, to her own anger and disgust, slept three hours or more,
quietly drew Madelinette towards her. With a little sob the girl--for
what was she but a girl--let her head drop on the old woman's shoulder,
and she fell into a troubled sleep, which lasted till, in the flush
of sunrise, they drew up at the solitary inn on the outskirts of the
village of Beaugard. They had come fifty miles since the evening before.

Here Madelinette took Havel into her confidence, in so far as to tell
him that Tardif had stolen a valuable paper from her, the loss of which
might bring most serious consequences.

Whatever Havel had suspected he was the last man in the world to show or
tell. But before leaving the Manor House of Pontiac he had armed himself
with pistols, in the grim hope that he might be required to use them.
Havel had been used hard in the world, Madelinette had been kind to him,
and he was ready to show his gratitude--and he little recked what form
it might take. When he found that they were following Tardif, and
for what purpose, an ugly joy filled his heart, and he determined on
revenge--so long delayed--on the scoundrel who had once tried to turn
the parish against him by evil means. He saw that his pistols were duly
primed, he learned that Tardif had passed but two hours before, boasting
again that Europe would have gossip for a year, once he reached Quebec.
Tardif too had paid liberally for his refreshment and his horses, for
here he had taken a carriage, and had swaggered like a trooper in a
conquered country.

Havel had every hope of overtaking Tardif, and so he told Madelinette,
adding that he would secure the paper for her at any cost. She did not
quite know what Havel meant, but she read purpose in his eye, and when
Havel said: "I won't say 'Stop thief' many times," she turned away
without speaking--she was choked with anxiety. Yet in her own pocket was
a little silver-handled pistol.

It was true that Tardif was a thief, but she knew that his theft would
be counted a virtue before the world. This she could not tell Havel, but
when the critical moment came--if it did come--she would then act upon
the moment's inspiration. If Tardif was a thief, what was she!--But this
she could not tell Havel or the world. Even as she thought it for this
thousandth time, her face flushed deeply, and a mist came before her
eyes. But she hardened her heart and gave orders to proceed