e, and,
as we found them, a generous people; and once deceived, you will find
that they will never again have perfect confidence in their betrayers."

"Perhaps so; I daresay you are right. But why borrow trouble that is
years and leagues away from us? We are here in old France, and likely to
stay here."

"I am not so sure of that."

"What!"

"I am not so sure of that. I had a long _tete-a-tete_ with Jean Francois
de la Roque to-day, and he is wavering. He has much influence in
Picardy, and King Francis is greatly indebted to him. He declares that
if he wants a ship, or indeed a fleet, he can have it. He professes to
be anxious to win souls in the new land of darkness, as he calls it; but
do not lay too much stress on the darkness when you meet him. The gold
and the diamonds and the furs will touch his heart much quicker than
anything else. He is a shrewd fellow, and if you can get him
enthusiastic over your New World you will soon be at your beloved
Stadacona, and have a chance to stay there too. His idea is to plant a
colony there, develop the resources of the country, and, I have no
doubt, save the souls of the inhabitants at his leisure. I wish we could
get together some of our old friends. A few of the men who pulled safely
through the scurvy would be a great help on another such expedition."

"Where is Charles de la Pommeraye?" interrupted Cartier.

"De la Pommeraye! Have you not heard the last news of him?"

"No; what fresh scrape has he been getting into? There is no braver
fellow alive; and if he does get into a few more quarrels than the rest
of us, it is merely because of his excessive gallantry. A petticoat will
always bring him to his knees. Why man, at Hochelaga he doffed his
plumed hat to every fair savage who attracted his eye. If I get a chance
to go again I will find him, though I have to search every hole and
corner in France."

"I am much afraid you will have some trouble in finding him. The last
report I had of him was, that he was seen lying in the streets of Paris
with several daggers gracing his breast. He was my friend, as you know,
and, despite his foolhardiness and follies, the only man in whom I could
ever have perfect confidence. I had always expected he would meet just
such an end; but I have shed more tears for him than I ever thought to
shed for any man."

"Charles de la Pommeraye dead!" exclaimed Cartier. "I cannot believe
it!"

"Neither can I!" interrupted a sturdy voice tha