The presence of the women in the settlement brought about a magic
change. Beards were clipped, locks were trimmed, clothes overhauled,
and the needle and thread performed an almost forgotten office; the
jest was modified, and the meal hours were quiet and decorous. The
women were given a separate cabin in which they were to sleep, and
every one contributed something toward their comfort. Father Le
Mercier even went so far as to delay mass the first morning in order
that the women might be thoroughly rested. Thus, a grain of humor
entered into the lives of these grim men.
"Madame," said the Chevalier, "permit me to felicitate you upon your
extraordinary escape." This was said during the first morning.
Madame courtesied. Her innate mockery was always near the surface.
"Will you grant me the pleasure of showing you the mission?"
"No, Monsieur le Chevalier; Monsieur de Saumaise and Brother Jacques
have already offered to do that service. Monsieur," decidedly, "is it
to be peace or war?"
"Should I be here else?"
"Else what, peace or war?"
"Neither. I shall know no peace. I have followed you, as I said,
though indirectly."
"Ah! then you really followed me this time? Did you read that letter
which I sent to you?"
"Letter? I have seen no letter from you."
"I believe I sent you one . . . after that morning."
"I have not seen it."
She breathed a sigh of relief. He did not know, then? So the comedy
must go on as of old. "So you followed me," as if musing.
"Ah, Madame, what else could I do?"
"Why, you might not have followed me;" and with this ambiguous retort,
she moved away, The Chevalier shouldered his ax and made off toward a clump of maples
where several woodsmen were at work. His heart was gay rather than
sad. For would she not be forced to remain here indefinitely? And
whenever Father Chaumonot could spare the men, would he not be one of
them to return to Quebec with her?
The poet and Brother Jacques escorted the two women about the mission;
and squaws, children, and young braves followed them curiously. When
they arrived at the rude chapel, all four knelt reverently. Piles of
lumber, the harvest of the forest, lay on the ground. The women
breathed long and deeply the invigorating odor which hangs like incense
over freshly hewn wood. They drank the bubbling waters of the Jesuits'
well, and wandered about the salt marshes, Victor going ahead with a
forked stick in case the rattlesnake should object to their progress.
Madame was in great spirits. She laughed and sang snatches of song.
Never had Victor seen her more blithe.
"And it was here that Hiawatha came with his white canoe!" she cried;
and tried to conjure up a picture of a venerable Indian with white hair.