for such a course;" and a mirthful twinkle shone in his eyes.

The priest laughed softly. "It is hardly applicable here. I sat
thinking. The sun has been so brilliant for days that the night brings
comfort. You are a stranger here, Monsieur?"

"Yes, though it is not my first visit to Detroit. I have gone from New
York to Michilimackinac several times, to Montreal, Quebec, to France
and back, though I was born there. I am the guest of Monsieur Fleury."

The priest made an approving inclination of the head.

"One sees many strange things. You have a conglomerate, Pere Rameau. And
now a new--shall I say ruler?"

"That is the word, Monsieur. And I hope it may last as long as the
English reign. We cannot pray for the success of La Belle France any
more."

"France has her own hard battles to fight. Yet it makes one a little sad
to think of the splendid heritage that has slipped from her hands, for
which her own discoverers and priests gave up their lives. Still, she
has been proved unworthy of her great trust. I, as a Frenchman, say it
with sorrow."

"You are a churchman, Monsieur?"

"A Christian, I hope. For several generations we have been on the other
side. But I am not unmindful of good works or good lives."

Pere Rameau bowed his head.

"What I wished to talk about was a little girl," St. Armand began,
after a pause. "Jeanne Angelot, I have heard her called."

"Ah, Monsieur, you know something about her, then?" returned the priest,
eagerly.

"No, I wish I did. I have crossed her path a time or two, though I can't
tell just why she interests me. She is bright, vivacious, but curiously
ignorant. Why does she live with this Indian woman and run wild?"

"I cannot tell any further than it seems M. Bellestre's strange whim.
All I know of the child is Pani's story. The De Longueils went to France
and the Bellestres took their house. Pani had been given her freedom,
but remained with the new owners. She was a very useful woman, but
subject to curious spells of longing for her olden friends. Sometimes
she would disappear for days, spending the time among the Indian squaws
outside the stockade. She was there one evening when this child was
dropped in her lap by a young Indian woman. Touchas, the woman she was
staying with, corroborates the story. The child was two years or more
old, and talked French; cried at first for her 'maman.' Madame Bellestre
insisted that Pani should bring the child to her. She had lost a l