e Pean! Let go my arm! I am going to
the devil, I tell you!"

"Why, Le Gardeur," was the reply, "that is a broad and well-travelled
road--the king's highway, in fact. I am going upon it myself, as fast
and merrily as any man in New France."

"Well, go on it then! March either before or after me, only don't go
with me, De Pean; I am taking the shortest cuts to get to the end of
it, and want no one with me." Le Gardeur walked doggedly on; but De Pean
would not be shaken off. He suspected what had happened.

"The shortest cut I know is by the Taverne de Menut, where I am going
now," said he, "and I should like your company, Le Gardeur! Our set are
having a gala night of it, and must be musical as the frogs of Beauport
by this hour! Come along!" De Pean again took his arm. He was not
repelled this time.

"I don't care where I go, De Pean!" replied he, forgetting his dislike
to this man, and submitting to his guidance,--the Taverne de Menut was
just the place for him to rush into and drown his disappointment in
wine. The two moved on in silence for a few minutes.

"Why, what ails you, Le Gardeur?" asked his companion, as they walked on
arm in arm. "Has fortune frowned upon the cards, or your mistress proved
a fickle jade like all her sex?"

His words were irritating enough to Le Gardeur. "Look you, De Pean," said
he, stopping, "I shall quarrel with you if you repeat such remarks.
But you mean no mischief I dare say, although I would not swear it!" Le
Gardeur looked savage.

De Pean saw it would not be safe to rub that sore again. "Forgive me,
Le Gardeur!" said he, with an air of sympathy well assumed. "I meant no
harm. But you are suspicious of your friends to-night as a Turk of his
harem."

"I have reason to be! And as for friends, I find only such friends as
you, De Pean! And I begin to think the world has no better!" The clock
of the Recollets struck the hour as they passed under the shadow of
its wall. The brothers of St. Francis slept quietly on their peaceful
pillows, like sea birds who find in a rocky nook a refuge from the
ocean storms. "Do you think the Recollets are happy, De Pean?" asked he,
turning abruptly to his companion.

"Happy as oysters at high water, who are never crossed in love, except
of their dinner! But that is neither your luck nor mine, Le Gardeur!" De
Pean was itching to draw from his companion something with reference to
what had passed with Angelique.

"Well, I would rather be an oy