aying, brought over with the rest of the butin in
the ships of Cartier and Champlain.

The gentlemen bowed their thanks, and as Philibert looked up, he saw
pretty Zoe Bedard poring over a sheet of paper bearing a red seal, and
spelling out the crabbed law text of Master Pothier. Zoe, like other
girls of her class, had received a tincture of learning in the day
schools of the nuns; but, although the paper was her marriage contract,
it puzzled her greatly to pick out the few chips of plain sense that
floated in the sea of legal verbiage it contained. Zoe, with a perfect
comprehension of the claims of meum and tuum, was at no loss, however,
in arriving at a satisfactory solution of the true merits of her
matrimonial contract with honest Antoine La Chance.

She caught the eye of Philibert, and blushed to the very chin as she
huddled away the paper and returned the salute of the two handsome
gentlemen, who, having refreshed their horses, rode off at a rapid trot
down the great highway that led to the city.

Babet Le Nocher, in a new gown, short enough to reveal a pair of shapely
ankles in clocked stockings and well-clad feet that would have been
the envy of many a duchess, sat on the thwart of the boat knitting. Her
black hair was in the fashion recorded by the grave Peter Kalm, who, in
his account of New France, says, "The peasant women all wear their hair
in ringlets, and nice they look!"

"As I live!" exclaimed she to Jean, who was enjoying a pipe of native
tobacco, "here comes that handsome officer back again, and in as great a
hurry to return as he was to go up the highway!"

"Ay, ay, Babet! It is plain to see he is either on the King's errand
or his own. A fair lady awaits his return in the city, or one has just
dismissed him where he has been! Nothing like a woman to put quicksilver
in a man's shoes--eh! Babet?"

"Or foolish thoughts into their hearts, Jean!" replied she, laughing.

"And nothing more natural, Babet, if women's hearts are wise enough in
their folly to like our foolish thoughts of them. But there are two!
Who is that riding with the gentleman? Your eyes are better than mine,
Babet!"

"Of course, Jean! that is what I always tell you, but you won't believe
me--trust my eyes, and doubt your own! The other gentleman," said she,
looking fixedly, while her knitting lay still in her lap, "the other is
the young Chevalier de Repentigny. What brings him back before the rest
of the hunting party, I wonde