of my household. You have clearly
proven to me that the rumours in question are calumnies without any
foundation, and I am sincerely affected concerning the pain they
have given you."

Dorchester read what he had written.

"There is my award," he pronounced. "It is, in my opinion, all that one
gentleman ought to demand of another. Do you consider it fair each of
you?"

Each declared it satisfactory.

"Then sign it, Mr. de Lery," said the Governor promptly. De Lery signed
it.

Dorchester gave it to Germain.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"Perfectly, your Excellency."

Germain thrust the letter in his breast and bowed himself out. On sober
thought he preferred it to his own. The same evening he sailed for
Europe. But not before he had secured the signature of the Bishop of
Quebec to a copy of his birth-certificate, altered according to the
judge's order procured at Montreal.

Onward, onward, he impatiently counted the leagues of the sea by day. A
ravishingly fair face beckoned in his dreams by night.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE RECORD

On New Year's morning de Lotbiniere was crossing the great courtyard of
the Louvre, when he heard the voice of Louis de Lery calling him. The
Bodyguard was hurrying forward with a curl of disgust on his lip, and
holding out an open letter.

The Marquis, stopping, took it with a glance of inquiry.

"More of the beast!" ejaculated Louis.

The letter was one from Madame de Lery, relating with a woman's
indignation the proceedings of Germain during his first visit to Quebec.

"_Mon Dieu!_ how disgusting," Louis exclaimed.

"More than that--it is felonious," almost shouted the Marquis, great
veins swelling upon his forehead and his hand shaking with rage. "Should
the monster ever land again upon the shores of France from which I drove
him, my God, I will hang him! Leave me this letter."

"The fellow is gross enough to return," said Louis scornfully. "What
could be plainer--his movements speak for themselves."

Here a shabby individual stepped up, handed the Marquis a note, and at
the same time beckoned the two into a corner out of the crowd. The
billet was a scrap on which was written only--

"LECOUR."

Mystery had a fascination for de Lotbiniere. Not so for Louis, who was
impatient that so seedy a person should presume to stop them. Still, on
being handed the paper, he condescended to remain.

"Craving pardon, my Lord," said Jude--it was of