ar between were the notes which came to
their ears from the old world, the world they all hoped to see again
some day. The drill was a brave sight; for the men went through their
manoeuvers with all the pomp of the king's musketeers. A crowd of
savages looked on, still awed. But some of the Onondagas laughed or
smiled. There was something going on at the Long House in the hills
which these Frenchmen knew nothing about. And other warriors watched
the scene with the impassiveness of a spider who sees a fly moving
toward the web.

The pioneers were hardy men; that some wore skins of beasts, ragged
silks and velvets which had once upon a time aired themselves among the
fashionable in Paris, and patched and faded uniforms, mattered but
little. They were men; and even the Iroquois were impressed by this
fact more than any other. Du Puys and Nicot saw that there was no
slipshod work; for while the drilling was at present only for show and
to maintain awe, the discipline would prove effective in time of need.
Neither of these good soldiers had the faith in the Iroquois which made
the Jesuit Fathers so trustful. Who could say that all this was not a
huge trap, the lid of which might fall any day?

Madame had wandered off by herself to view the scene from a distance;
but her interest soon died away and her thoughts became concerned with
her strange fate. She regretted her beauty; for she was conscious that
she possessed this physical attribute. It had been her undoing; she
had used it in play, to this miserable end. It was only when large
drops of rain splashed on her face that she realized where she was or
that a storm had burst upon the valley.

"Madame, will you do me the honor to accept my cloak?"

Drearily she inclined her head toward the voice, and became awake to
the actualities of the moment. For the speaker was D'Herouville. It
was the first opportunity he had found to address her, and he was
determined to make the most of it.

"Will you accept my cloak, Madame?" he repeated. "It is raining."

"Accept your cloak? Touch anything which belongs to you? I think not,
Monsieur!" She went on. She even raised her face toward the cold,
sweet-smelling torrents.

"Madame!"

"Monsieur, is it not a grey cloak which you have to offer?" with sudden
inspiration. For madame had been thinking lately of that garment which
had played so large a part in her destiny. "Have you not the cloak to
offer which made me