th Roberval," said Cartier. "I supposed he
would have had the good sense to leave them behind."

"I have been in Picardy and in Paris," returned Charles, "and I have
learned beyond a doubt that they went with him. We must reach them at
once, or the scurvy, cold, or Indians will surely destroy them."

"We shall have to trust to Providence till spring, at all events,"
replied Cartier. "We could not reach the Gulf of St Lawrence before the
ice makes. It would be October before we should get under way, and you
remember the Hochelaga was bridged just one month later last year. No
vessel need hope to make the arduous journey across the Atlantic in less
than six weeks."

La Pommeraye, in his impulsiveness, had not thought of this; and as the
truth of the sailor's words flashed upon him, he felt that his friends
were doomed.

He accepted the inevitable with what stoicism he could, and unable to
stay in St Malo, he returned to Paris to fill up his time as best he
might until spring arrived. But the gay life about the court had no
fascination for him. Dice and the wine-cup failed to attract him, and
women marvelled at the handsome young Hercules who displayed such
indifference to all their charms. Excitement of a manlier sort he must
have; and although there were no battles of any great importance to be
fought, the frontier engagements gave abundant opportunity for such
swords as his. His old renown soon returned to him; and tales of his
wondrous daring found their way to Fontainebleau, to be marvellously
enlarged on by his staunch friend and admirer, Henri of Guise.

But he never swerved from his purpose, and as soon as the March sun
began to warm the soil, he turned his horse's head towards St Malo.

On his arrival there, he found to his surprise that Cartier was no more
enthusiastic over the expedition than he had been in the autumn. That
insatiable wanderer seemed at last to have had enough of adventures by
sea and land. He had received his patent of nobility from the King, and
since the sufferings and discouragements of his last voyage, the
prospect of comfort and honours in France seemed to hold more
inducements for him than the idea of once more facing the dangers of the
deep. His limbs were not so sturdy as of old, his eye had lost something
of its keenness, and the hardships and anxieties of the last winter had
left their mark upon him. He had money enough to support him to the end
of his days, and he had purchased