a rapid glance, partly of doubt, partly of
surprise. They knew well, for Bigot had not concealed from his intimate
associates the fact that a strange lady, whose name they had not heard,
was living in the secret chambers of the Chateau of Beaumanoir. Bigot
never told any who she was or whence she came. Whatever suspicion they
might entertain in their own minds, they were too wary to express it.
On the contrary, Varin, ever more ready with a lie than Bigot, confirmed
with a loud oath the statement of the Intendant.

La Corne St. Luc looked like a baffled lion as Rigaud de Vaudreuil,
with the familiarity of an old friend, laid his hand over his mouth,
and would not let him speak. Rigaud feared the coming challenge, and
whispered audibly in the ear of St. Luc,--

"Count a hundred before you speak, La Corne! The Intendant is to be
taken on his word just at present, like any other gentleman! Fight
for fact, not for fancy! Be prudent, La Corne! we know nothing to the
contrary of what Bigot swears to!"

"But I doubt much to the contrary, Rigaud!" replied La Corne, with
accent of scorn and incredulity.

The old soldier chafed hard under the bit, but his suspicions were not
facts. He felt that he had no solid grounds upon which to accuse the
Intendant in the special matter referred to in the letters. He was,
moreover, although hot in temperament, soon master of himself, and used
to the hardest discipline of self-control.

"I was, perhaps, over hasty, Rigaud!" replied La Corne St. Luc,
recovering his composure; "but when I think of Bigot in the past, how can
I but mistrust him in the present? However, be the girl above ground or
under ground, I will, par Dieu, not leave a stone unturned in New France
until I find the lost child of my old friend! La Corne St. Luc pledges
himself to that, and he never broke his word!"

He spoke the last words audibly, and looked hard at the Intendant. Bigot
cursed him twenty times over between his teeth, for he knew La Corne's
indomitable energy and sagacity, that was never at fault in finding
or forcing a way to whatever he was in search of. It would not be long
before he would discover the presence of a strange lady at Beaumanoir,
thought Bigot, and just as certain would he be to find out that she was
the lost daughter of the Baron de St. Castin.

The good Bishop rose up when the dispute waxed warmest between the
Intendant and La Corne St. Luc. His heart was eager to allay the strife;
but