e Sieur doing? Making new bargains, persuading colonists to
join them, getting concessions to the profit of New France. Alas! Old
France was a selfish sort of stepmother. She wanted furs, she wanted
colonies planted, she wanted explorations, and possessions taken in
every direction, to thwart English and Dutch, who seemed somehow to be
prospering, but the money supplies were pared to the narrowest edge.

The little girl would have been much interested in one step her dear
Sieur was taking, though she did not hear of it until long afterward.
This was his betrothment and marriage to Marie Helene, the daughter of
Nicolas Boulle, private secretary to the young King. A child of twelve,
and the soldier and explorer who was now forty or over, but held his
years well and the hardships had written few lines on his kindly and
handsome face. That he was very much charmed with the child, who was
really quite mature for her age, was true, though it is thought the
friendship of her father and her dowry had some weight. But she adored
her heroic lover, although she was to be returned to the convent to
finish her education. Then the Sieur made his will and settled a part of
the dowry on his bride, and the income of all his other property, his
maps and books, "in case of his death in voyages on the sea and in the
service of the King."

If the autumn had been lovely and long beyond expectations, winter
lingered as well. And the travellers had a hard time on their return.
Lofty bergs floated down the Atlantic, and great floes closed in around
the vessel, and the rigging was encased in glittering ice. Sometimes
their hearts failed them and the small boats were made ready, but
whither would they steer? Captain Pontgrave kept up his courage, and
"when they brought their battered craft into the harbor of Tadoussac
they fired a cannon shot in joyous salute," says history. Seventy-four
days had their journey lasted.

The country was still white with snow, although it was May. Already some
trading vessels were bidding for furs, but the Montagnais had had a hard
winter as well, and the Bay traders would have perished on the way.

Champlain pushed on to Quebec, though his heart was full of fears.

Rose was out on the gallery, that Pani was clearing from the frequent
light falls of snow. A canoe was being rowed by some Indians and in the
stern sat the dearly-loved Commander. "They have come! they have come!"
shouted Rose, and she ran in to spre