ing you are mistaken," cried Perigord, with animation.
"Yonder is his father--it is not I."

In some surprise the Indian looked first at one and then at the other,
scanning alternately the plain suit which the marquis had been
accustomed to wear on board ship, and the full dress costume in which
old Perigord invariably waited on him. But apart from these the fiery
black eyes, the dark complexion, and even the hooked nose of old
Achille, and most of all the tears which had betrayed his emotion on
hearing the name of Isidore, would have sufficed to settle the question.

"Is a chief of the Algonquins an owl that he cannot see in broad
daylight?" said the Indian, contemptuously. "Does the cunning
Frenchman think that a warrior of the red skins does not know the
difference between a wild goose and an eagle?"

Then without further parley he gave the word for the march, and the
amazed and terrified prisoners were hurried away into the woods.

[Illustration: Headpiece to Chapter VIII]

CHAPTER VIII.

It is scarcely to be wondered at that, amid such events as were daily
passing around her, poor Bibi had begun to despair of ever seeing her
husband again. His avocations had often enough taken him away for a
month or two, but more than a year had now elapsed without her even
hearing of him. Proportionably great was her surprise and joy at his
sudden re-appearance, and his happiness was not less real at seeing
once more those he so dearly loved. What with Bibi's eager questions,
and the prattle of the little ones, an hour or two had glided away
swiftly enough, when Boulanger suddenly asked what had become of
Amoahmeh.

Bibi shook her head. "She has been living here with us for some
months," said she, "helping and comforting me as she only could do; but
I am afraid that those horrid Indians have got hold of her again. Only
this morning there was one lurking about here, and I am sure Amoahmeh
must have seen him, for she has hardly spoken a word all day, and
looked quite miserable. Just before you came she threw her arms around
my neck, and said that very likely I should never see her again; and
when I began to cry, and begged her to tell me what was the matter, she
tried to cheer me by saying that she was only going to 'The Steps'--you
know the place, up there on the Montmorency River. Then, before I
could say another word, she was gone. In my joy at seeing you again I
had forgotten all about it, that's a