waters showed changeful surfaces
on Fundy Bay.

The capote was long for him. He kept his hands within the sleeves.
Before the guard-line was passed he saw in the middle of the camp an
open tent. A long torch stood in front of it with the point stuck in the
ground. The floating yellow blaze showed the tent's interior, its simple
fittings for rest, the magnificent arms and garments of its occupant,
and first of all, D'Aulnay de Charnisay himself, sitting with a rude
camp table in front of him. He was half muffled in a furred cloak from
the balm of that Easter night. Papers and an ink-horn were on the table,
and two officers stood by, receiving orders.

This governor of Acadia had a triangular face with square temples and
pointed beard, its crisp fleece also concealing his mouth except the
thin edges of his lips. It was a handsome nervous face of black tones;
one that kept counsel, and was not without humor. He noticed his
subordinate approaching with the friar. The men sent to execute Klussman
were dispersed to their tents.

"The Swiss hath suffered his punishment?" he inquired.

"Yes, my lord D'Aulnay. I met the soldiers returning."

"Did he say anything further concerning the state of the fort?"

"I know not, my lord. But I will call the men to be questioned."

"Let it be. He hath probably not lied in what he told me to-day of its
weak garrison. But help is expected soon with La Tour. Perhaps he told
more to the friar in their last conference."

"Heretics do not confess, my lord."

"True enough; but these churchmen have inquisitive minds which go into
men's affairs without confession," said the governor of Acadia with a
smile which lengthened slightly the thread-lines of his lips. D'Aulnay
de Charnisay had an eye with a keen blue iris, sorting not at all with
the pigments of his face. As he cast it on the returned friar his mere
review deepened to a scrutiny used to detecting concealments.

"Hath this Capuchin shrunk?" exclaimed D'Aulnay. "He is not as tall as
he was."

All present looked with quickened attention at the soldier, who expected
them to pull off his cowl and expose a head of thrifty clusters which
had never known the tonsure. His beaver cap lay in the trench with the
real Father Vincent.

He folded his arms on his breast with a gesture of patience which had
its effect. D'Aulnay's followers knew the warfare between their seignior
and Father Vincent de Paris, the only churchman in Acadia who ins