nd as they related in their grave, stoical way the sufferings
the French had endured, and the number of men who had fallen beneath the
iron hand of De Roberval, his heart was moved with pity for his
fellow-countrymen. Of Claude and Marguerite he could learn nothing.
According to the Indians' accounts no women at all answering to Charles'
descriptions had been with De Roberval; and several Montagnais warriors,
who had known Claude when he crossed with Cartier in 1535, and who well
remembered the reserved, dark-eyed young Frenchman, declared that he,
too, had not been at the colony.

This news greatly troubled Charles, and as soon as his vessel was well
loaded, clapping on all sail, he once more sped on his way across the
great northern ocean, which had now lost all its terrors for him.

It was September before his ship reached St Malo, and, after leaving her
in the hands of the merchants who had put money into the enterprise, he
hurried to Cartier, who was in Paris on business, and laid before him
all he had seen and heard.

Cartier had more than a suspicion of the reasons which had induced
Charles first to come back to France, and then to be in such mad haste
to return to Canada. He was a shrewd observer, and had drawn his own
conclusions, but discreetly kept them to himself. He now stood looking
at his stalwart, handsome young friend and fellow-voyager with a great
pity at his heart, and wondered how he could break to him the news of
the rumours he had heard.

"La Pommeraye," he said at last, "my arm is not as strong as it once
was, or I should be more than tempted to strike a blow at a man whom we
once called friend."

"Whom do you mean?" cried Charles, a vague anxiety roused within him at
the sight of Cartier's face.

"I mean De Roberval."

"Why, what has he done? Is there bad news? Tell me at once, I beg of
you! What have you heard?"

"I do not know what he has done. I have seen no one since his return who
was with him at Charlesbourg Royal; but it is rumoured in Paris that
neither Mdlle. de Roberval nor Claude de Pontbriand ever reached
Canada."

For the first time, as he heard those two names coupled together, a
dawning suspicion of the truth rose in La Pommeraye's mind, only to be
swallowed up in the undefined and horrible fear suggested by Cartier's
final words. He rose, with a face like death, and laid his hand on
Cartier's arm.

"Tell me at once what you mean!" he said.

"I know nothing accurate