e housekeeper, Monsieur. There was nothing else for me. In
France, I am told, my father's people were well born, but this is not
France, and there was no choice. Besides I was but a child of
fourteen."

"And seventeen, now, Mademoiselle," and he took my hand gallantly.
"Pardon if I have asked questions which bring pain. I can understand
much, for in Montreal I heard tales of this Hugo Chevet."

"He is rough, a woodsman," I defended, "yet not unkind to me. You will
speak him fair?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

"No fear of my neglecting all courtesy, for I come beseeching a favor.
I have learned the lesson of when the soft speech wins more than the
iron hand. And this other, the Commissaire Cassion--is he a bird of
the same plumage?"

I made a little gesture, and glanced back at the closed door.

"Oh, no; he is the court courtier, to stab with words, not deeds.
Chevet is rough of speech, and hard of hand, but he fights in the
open; Cassion has a double tongue, and one never knows him." I glanced
up into his sobered face. "He is a friend of La Barre."

"So 'tis said, and has been chosen by the governor to bear message to
De Baugis in the Illinois country. I seek passage in his company."

"You! I thought you were of the party of Sieur de la Salle?"

"I am," he answered honestly, "yet Cassion will need a guide, and
there is none save myself in all New France who has ever made that
journey. 'Twill be well for him to listen to my plan. And why not? We
do not fight the orders of the governor: we obey, and wait. Monsieur
de la Salle will tell his story to the King."

"The King! to Louis?"

"Ay, 'twill not be the first time he has had audience, and already he
is at sea. We can wait, and laugh at this Cassion over his useless
journey."

"But he--he is treacherous, Monsieur."

He laughed, as though the words amused.

"To one who has lived, as I, amid savages, treachery is an old story.
The Commissaire will not find me asleep. We will serve each other, and
let it go at that. Ah! we are to be interrupted."

He straightened up facing the door, and I turned, confronting my uncle
as he emerged in advance. He was a burly man, with iron-gray hair, and
face reddened by out-of-doors; and he stopped in surprise at sight of
a stranger, his eyes hardening with suspicion.

"And who is this with whom you converse so privately, Adele?" he
questioned brusquely, "a young popinjay new to these parts I
venture