dely opened,
yet with an expression in them I could not fathom; it was neither
hatred nor love, though it might easily have been sorrow.

"Marie," he urged, rendered despairing by her silence, "I have done you
wrong, great wrong; but I thought you dead. They told me so,--they
told me it was your body they buried. Will you not speak a word of
mercy now?"

Dim as the light was, I saw her eyes were moist as she gazed down upon
him; but there was no faltering in her voice.

"You were right, Monsieur le Marquis," she said slowly, "Marie Faneuf
is dead. It is only Sister Celeste who has aided in the preservation
of your life in the name of the Master. Make your acknowledgment to
the Mother of Christ, not to me, for such mercy."

I knew not when she passed out, or how; but we were alone once more,
and De Croix was lying with his face buried in the short grass.

CHAPTER XXXI

A SEARCH, AND ITS REWARD

I slept at last, soundly, for several hours, lying well hidden behind
the skins at the back of the lodge. There seemed nothing else to do;
for poor De Croix had no thought other than that of the woman who had
just left us, and I was exhausted by hours of excitement and toil. He
was asleep when I awoke, lying just as I had left him, his face still
buried in the short trodden grass that carpeted the floor.

It was so quiet without that I listened in vain for a sound to indicate
the presence of Indians. Silence so profound was in strange contrast
with the hideous uproar of the preceding night, and curiosity led me
finally to project my head from beneath the lodge covering and gain a
cautious glimpse of the camp without. The yellow sunshine of the calm
summer afternoon rested hot and glaring on the draped skins of the
tepees, and on the brown prairie-grass, trampled by hundreds of passing
feet. I could perceive a few squaws working lazily in the shade of the
trees near the bank of the river; but no other moving figures were
visible. Several recumbent forms were within my sight, their faces
toward the sun, evidently sleeping off the heavy potations of the
night. Otherwise the great encampment appeared completely deserted;
there were no spirals of smoke rising above the lodge-poles, no
gossiping groups anywhere about.

It was plain enough to me. Those of the warriors capable of further
action were elsewhere engaged upon some fresh foray, while the
majority, overcome by drinking, were asleep within their dark