his belt, the sparkle of a
costly ring upon his finger, and the delicate richly-inlaid musket which
he carried, all gave a touch of grace to his equipment. A broad band of
yellow ochre across his forehead and a tomahawk at his belt added to the
strange inconsistency of his appearance.

The other was undoubtedly a pure Frenchman, elderly, dark and wiry, with
a bristling black beard and a fierce eager face. He, too, was clad in
hunter's dress, but he wore a gaudy striped sash round his waist, into
which a brace of long pistols had been thrust. His buckskin tunic had
been ornamented over the front with dyed porcupine quills and Indian
bead-work, while his leggings were scarlet with a fringe of raccoon
tails hanging down from them. Leaning upon his long brown gun he stood
watching the party, while his companion advanced towards them.

"You will excuse our precautions," said he. "We never know what device
these rascals may adopt to entrap us. I fear, madame, that you have had
a long and very tiring journey."

Poor Adele, who had been famed for neatness even among housekeepers of
the Rue St. Martin, hardly dared to look down at her own stained and
tattered dress. Fatigue and danger she had endured with a smiling face,
but her patience almost gave way at the thought of facing strangers in
this attire.

"My mother will be very glad to welcome you, and to see to every want,"
said he quickly, as though he had read her thoughts. "But you, sir, I
have surely seen you before."

"And I you," cried the guardsman. "My name is Amory de Catinat, once of
the regiment of Picardy. Surely you are Achille de la Noue de Sainte
Marie, whom I remember when you came with your father to the government
_levees_ at Quebec."

"Yes, it is I," the young man answered, holding out his hand and smiling
in a somewhat constrained fashion. "I do not wonder that you should
hesitate, for when you saw me last I was in a very different dress to
this."

De Catinat did indeed remember him as one of the band of the young
_noblesse_ who used to come up to the capital once a year, where they
inquired about the latest modes, chatted over the year-old gossip of
Versailles, and for a few weeks at least lived a life which was in
keeping with the traditions of their order. Very different was he now,
with scalp-lock and war-paint, under the shadow of the great oaks, his
musket in his hand and his tomahawk at his belt.

"We have one life for the fore