his shrewd knowledge of human nature, and manifold experience of
human quarrels, taught him that between two such men the intercession of
a priest would not, at that moment, be of any avail. Their own notions
of honor and self-respect would alone be able to restrain them from
rushing into unseemly excesses of language and act; so the good
Bishop stood with folded arms looking on, and silently praying for
an opportunity to remind them of the seventh holy beatitude, "Beati
pacifici!"

Bigot felt acutely the difficulty of the position he had been placed
in by the act of La Pompadour, in sending her despatch to the Governor
instead of to himself. "Why had she done that?" said he savagely to
himself. "Had she suspected him?"

Bigot could not but conclude that La Pompadour suspected him in this
matter. He saw clearly that she would not trust the search after this
girl to him, because she knew that Caroline de St. Castin had formerly
drawn aside his heart, and that he would have married her but for the
interference of the royal mistress. Whatever might have been done before
in the way of sending Caroline back to Acadia, it could not be done now,
after he had boldly lied before the Governor and the honorable Council.

One thing seemed absolutely necessary, however. The presence of Caroline
at Beaumanoir must be kept secret at all hazards, until--until,--and
even Bigot, for once, was ashamed of the thoughts which rushed into his
mind,--until he could send her far into the wilderness, among savage
tribes, to remain there until the search for her was over and the affair
forgotten.

This was his first thought. But to send her away into the wilderness was
not easy. A matter which in France would excite the gossip and curiosity
of a league or two of neighborhood would be carried on the tongues of
Indians and voyageurs in the wilds of North America for thousands of
miles. To send her away without discovery seemed difficult. To retain
her at Beaumanoir in face of the search which he knew would be made by
the Governor and the indomitable La Corne St. Luc, was impossible. The
quandary oppressed him. He saw no escape from the dilemma; but, to the
credit of Bigot be it said, that not for a moment did he entertain a
thought of doing injury to the hapless Caroline, or of taking advantage
of her lonely condition to add to her distress, merely to save himself.

He fell into a train of sober reflections unusual to him at any time,
and sca