eems he owes his life to this gallant
gentleman, and he prays me to entreat you to grant him whatever he
requests."

As he spoke, Charles recognised in the gay young cavalier, who now came
forward, his discomfited antagonist of the adventure on the road to
Picardy.

"We have met before," said he, bowing to La Pommeraye. "Sire, this is
none other than the redoubtable swordsman whose deeds have been buzzed
through the court for a week--to the lasting chagrin of Jules Marchand.
Uncle, if you love me, you owe him a debt of gratitude. That I am not at
this moment in heaven, praying for your soul, is due solely to his
generosity."

"Nay," interrupted La Pommeraye, "my generosity saved you not; it was
the silver star you wore on your breast. I had intended to run you
through; but that sparkling bauble caught my eye, and I could not resist
the novel experience of tilting at you with my rapier."

A hearty laugh, in which the King joined, rang out from those who stood
near, for all knew of the adventure which the mirth-loving Henri of
Guise had related with due embellishment.

"We have not had so good a joke since we came to Paris," said Francis,
"as that encounter has furnished us. Your doughty deeds deserve a
reward. The ship is yours, and Cartier has our permission to go; but we
shall not compel him to leave France unless he wishes. And as for
manning the vessel, you will have to find some other means, for every
son is needed to protect France from our Spanish foes."

So it came about, that at the end of September La Pommeraye found
himself once more crossing the Sillon, with power to purchase a ship
and start at once to bid Roberval return to France. His first proceeding
was to seek out Cartier, and inform him of his successful mission.

He found, however, that the experienced and wary seaman was not to be
persuaded into undertaking the voyage before the spring. He displayed
small warmth over the concessions of the King; and declared that, owing
to the unforeseen delays which had retarded them on the voyage home, it
was now so late that it would be madness to attempt to cross the ocean
before the winter set in.

"In any case," he said, "De Roberval cannot do otherwise than we have
done. This winter will prove to them that their efforts are in vain;
they will be forced to return in the spring."

"But," said La Pommeraye, "think of the noble women with them! The
winter will kill them!"

"I did not know they were wi