The Commandant bowed to the company and turned, attended by his suite. When their soldierly tread had ceased on the steps, Father Gilbert confronted the White Chief.
"Your wife," he began in an authoritative tone, fixing his keen eyes on the Sieur Angelot, "your wife whom you tempted from her vows and unlawfully married is still alive. I think she can demand her child."
Jeanne clung closer to her father and his inmost soul responded. But aloud he exclaimed in a horrified tone, "Good God!" Then in a moment, turning almost fiercely to the priest, "Why did she give away her child and let it be thought a foundling? For if the story is true she has been little better than a waif, a foundling of Detroit."
"She was dying and intended to send it to you. She had to intrust it to a kind-hearted squaw. What happened then will never be known, until one evening it was dropped in the lap of this Pani woman who has been foster mother."
"Is this so, Jeanne?" He raised the flushed face and looked into the eyes with a glance that would have been stern had it not been so full of love.
"It is so," she made answer in a soft, clear voice. "She has been a mother to me and I love her. She is old and I will never be separated from her."
"There spoke the loyal child. And now, reverend father, where is this wife? It is a serious complication. But if, as you say, I married her unlawfully—"
"You enticed her from the convent." There was the severity of the judge in the tone.
"Parbleu! It did not need much enticing," and a half smile crossed his handsome face while his eyes softened. "We were both in love and she abhorred the monotony of convent life. We were of different faiths; that should have made me pause, but I thought then that love righted everything. I was of an adventurous turn and mightily stirred by the tales of the new world. Huguenot faith was not in favor in France, and I resolved to seek my fortunes elsewhere. She could not endure the parting. Yes, Father, since she had not taken any vow, not even begun her novitiate, I overpersuaded her. We were married in my faith. We came to this new world, and in Boston this child was born. We were still very happy. But I could not idle my life doing things befitting womankind. We came to Albany, and there I found some traders who told stirring tales of the great North and the fortunes made in the fur trade. My wife did oppose my going, but the enthusiasm of love, if I may call it so, had begun to wane. She had misgivings as to whether she had done right in marrying me—"
"As a true daughter of the Church would," interrupted the priest severely.