le supply of powder, blankets, and provisions for his tribe, while
the Intendant added an abundance of all such delicacies as could be
forwarded, for the use and comfort of the lady.

To carry out this scheme without observation, Bigot needed the help of
a trusty friend, one whom he could thoroughly rely upon, to convey
Caroline secretly away from Beaumanoir, and place her in the keeping of
the Montagnais, as well as to see to the further execution of his wishes
for her concealment and good treatment.

Bigot had many friends,--men living on his bounty, who ought only to
have been too happy to obey his slightest wishes,--friends bound to
him by disgraceful secrets, and common interests, and pleasures. But he
could trust none of them with the secret of Caroline de St. Castin.

He felt a new and unwonted delicacy in regard to her. Her name was
dear to him, her fame even was becoming dearer. To his own surprise it
troubled him now as it had never troubled him before. He would not have
her name defiled in the mouths of such men as drank his wine daily and
nightly, and disputed the existence of any virtue in woman.

Bigot ground his teeth as he muttered to himself that they might make a
mock of whatever other women they pleased. He himself could out-do them
all in coarse ribaldry of the sex, but they should not make a mock
and flash obscene jests at the mention of Caroline de St. Castin! They
should never learn her name. He could not trust one of them with
the secret of her removal. And yet some one of them must perforce be
entrusted with it!

He conned over the names of his associates one by one, and one by one
condemned them all as unworthy of confidence in a matter where treachery
might possibly be made more profitable than fidelity. Bigot was false
himself to the heart's core, and believed in no man's truth.

He was an acute judge of men. He read their motives, their bad ones
especially, with the accuracy of a Mephistopheles, and with the same
cold contempt for every trace of virtue.

Varin was a cunning knave, he said, ambitious of the support of the
Church; communing with his aunt, the Superior of the Ursulines, whom he
deceived, and who was not without hope of himself one day rising to be
Intendant. He would place no such secret in the keeping of Varin!

Penisault was a sordid dog. He would cheat the Montagnais of his gifts,
and so discontent them with their charge. He had neither courage nor
spirit for an adve