her gay laughter,
her rollicking songs, the old days.

"Monsieur, are we to go to Sillery?" asked a trooper, respectfully.

"Sillery?" The Chevalier shook himself, and took the right path.

The Chevalier and Victor sat on their narrow cots that night. Brother
Jacques had just gone. The windows were open, and the balmy air of
summer drifted in, carrying with it forest odors and the freshness of
the rising dew. Fireflies sparkled in the grass, and the pale stars of
early evening pierced the delicate green of the heavens. A single
candle flickered on the table, and the candlestick was an empty
burgundy bottle. The call of one sentry to another broke the solemn
quiet.

"And you have not grown sick for home since you left the sea?" asked
the Chevalier.

"Not I!" There were times when Victor could lie cheerfully and without
the prick of conscience. "One hasn't time to think of home. But how
are you getting on with your Iroquois?"

"Fairly."

"You are determined to meet D'Herouville?"

The Chevalier extended his right arm, allowing Victor to press it with
his fingers. Victor whistled softly. The arm, while thin, was like a
staff of oak. Presently the same arm reached out and snuffed the
candle.

"Shall you ever go back to France, Paul?"

A sigh from the other side of the room.

"I saw the vicomte talking to De Leviston to-day. De Leviston was
scowling. They separated when I approached."

"Will you have the goodness to go to sleep?"

"What the devil brings De Leviston so high on this side the water?"

Silence.

"I never liked his sneaking face."

A sentry called, another, and still another.

"Are you there, Paul?"

No answer.

"You're as surly as a papoose!"

Soon after that there was nothing to be heard but the deep and regular
breathing of two healthy men resting in sleep.

Some fourteen gentlemen sat around the governor's table the third
Friday night. There were the governor and his civic staff and his
officers, three or four merchants, and two priests, Brother Jacques and
Dollier de Casson, that brother to Rabelais, with his Jove-like smile
and his Herculean proportions. De Casson had arrived that day from
Three Rivers, and he had come for aid.

Two chairs were vacant, and presently the vicomte filled one of them.
The other was reserved for the Chevalier.

Victor was telling some amusing tales of the court; how Beaufort was
always blundering, how Mazarin was always saving, how