Danton,
for all his short Paris life (which should, Heaven knows, have given
him a front with the maids), could do nothing but hang about, eager
for a smile or a word, yet too young to know that he could better
serve his case by leaving her with her thoughts, and with the
boundless woods and the great lonely spaces of the river. Menard saw
the comedy--as indeed, who of the party did not--and was amused. A few
moments later he glanced again toward the oak. He was sharpening a
knife, and could seem not to be observing. Danton was sitting a few
yards from the maid, with the awkward air of a youth who doubts his
welcome. She still looked out over the water. Menard saw that her face
was white and drooping. He knew that she had not slept; for twice
during the preceding night, as he lay in his blanket, he had heard
from under the overturned canoe, where she lay, the low sound of her
sobbing.

Menard walked slowly down the slope, testing the knife-edge with his
thumb, his short pipe between his teeth. He sheathed his knife,
lowered his pipe, and called:--

"Guerin." The two men, who were bringing wood to the fire, looked up.
"Where has the Father gone?"

Guerin pointed around the base of the hill. "He went to the woods,
M'sieu."

"With a bundle," added Perrot.

Menard walked around the hill, and after a little searching found the
priest, kneeling, in a clearing, before the portrait of Catharine
Outasoren, which he had set against a tree. His brushes and paints
were spread on the ground before him. He did not hear Menard
approach.

"Oh," said the captain, "you brought the picture!"

The priest looked up over his shoulder, with a startled manner.

"I myself have stripped down to the lightest necessaries," said
Menard, with a significant glance at the portrait.

The priest lowered his brush, and sat looking at the picture
with troubled eyes. "I had no place for it," he said at last,
hesitatingly.

"They didn't take it at the College, eh?"

Father Claude flushed.

"They were very kind. They felt that perhaps it was not entirely
completed, and that--"

"You will leave it at Montreal, then, at the Mission?"

"Yes,--I suppose so. Yes, I shall plan to leave it there."

Menard leaned against a tree, and pressed the tobacco down in his
pipe.

"I have been doing some thinking in the last few minutes, Father. I've
decided to make my first call on you for assistance."

"Very well, Captain."

"It is about the maid.