hall weep if I
remain."

Half an hour later an orderly announced to his Excellency the governor
that a lady desired to see him.

"Admit her at once," said De Lauson. "Mademoiselle," when madame stood
before him, "am I to have the happiness of being of service to you?
Or, is it 'madame' instead of 'mademoiselle'?"

"I have promised to disclose my identity in time, your Excellency.
However, I shall not object to 'madame.' Monsieur, I am about to ask
you a question which I shall request not to be repeated."

The governor, looking at her with open admiration, recalled the days
when, as a student, he had conjured up in his own mind the faces of the
goddesses. This face represented neither Venus nor Pallas; rather the
lithe-limbed huntress who forswore marriage for the chase.

"And this question?" he inquired.

"What brought Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes, as he calls himself,
to Quebec?"

The governor's face became shaded with gravity, "I may not tell you
that. I did not know that you knew Monsieur le Comte. He will,
without doubt, return to France with Monsieur le Marquis, his father.
Nay, I shall tell you this: the Chevalier expected never to return to
France."

"Never to return to France?" vaguely.

"Yes, Madame; so I understood, him to say." The governor's curiosity
was manifest.

"Conspiring did not bring him here?"

"No, Madame."

"Monsieur, one more question, and then I will go. Is there a
Mademoiselle Catharine Coquenard upon your books?"

"Peasant or noble?"

"Peasant, Monsieur, of a positive type," with enough scorn to attract
the governor's ear.

He consulted his books, wondering what it was all about. "No such
name, Madame," he said, finally, "I regret to say."

"Thank you, Monsieur; that is all."

For the rest of the day his Excellency the governor went about with a
preoccupied expression on his face.

The sun sank; the green of the forests deepened; a violet mist rose
from the banks; the channel of the river became a perfect mirror, which
softened the gorgeous colors which the heavens flung upon its surface.
Madame wandered aimlessly around within the outer parapet of the
citadel. Far out upon the river she saw the black hull of the Henri
IV, the rigging weaving a delicate spider-web against the faded horizon
of the south. A breeze touched madame's cheek, as soft a kiss as that
which a mother gives to her sleeping child. For a space her hair
burned like ore in a furnace