. And
we have always had such a plentiful supply of fish."

The broth was very nourishing. Then Rose must sit with both of miladi's
hands in hers, so warm and soft, hers being little beside bone and
joints. She talked of France and her youth, when she was a pretty girl,
just out of the convent, and went to Paris. "You will like it so much. I
can hardly wait for the summer to come. I shall not mind if Monsieur has
so much business on hand that he cannot leave," and her tone had a
little mocking accent. "When men get older they lose their nice ways of
compliment and grace. They care less for their wives. Even M. de
Champlain does not fret after his, who is no doubt enjoying herself
finely. She was wise not to return."

The slim, golden crescent had wandered away to other worlds, and the
stars grew larger and brighter in their bed of blue. She watched them
through the open window. A screen was set up so that no draught should
annoy miladi. Presently she fell asleep again, and Rose stole to her own
couch, the other side of the screen, where she could still watch the
stars.

Savignon had come in with news. The Algonquins knew of a storehouse of
the Iroquois, who had gone on the war-path, and would hardly be back for
a whole moon. It would be best to start at once, and they began
preparations. Some of the Indian women volunteered, they were used to
carrying burthens. Bags were packed up. They trusted to find most of
their food upon the route.

Miladi took the parting tranquilly. M. Ralph had spent weeks on
exploring expeditions. If there was any danger in this, she did not heed
it. She held up her face to be kissed, and he noted how dry and parched
the lips were.

He gave a brief good-bye to Rose, who was standing near.

"Surely, he does not care for women," Miladi thought exultingly. "Even
her fresh, young beauty is nothing to him. He has no tender, eager
soul."

Rose went down to the plateau to see the start.

"You are much interested, Mam'selle?" Savignon said. "Give us the charm
of your thoughts and prayers."

"You have both, most truly." What a fine, stalwart fellow Savignon was,
lighter than the average, and picturesque in his Indian costume, though
he often wore the garb of civilization. French had become to him almost
a mother tongue.

Yet Rose wondered a little if it was right to rob the storehouse where
the industrious Indians had been making preparations for the coming
winter. Was it easier for one ra