She righted herself in a moment, and stared at him. There was something familiar in the soft eyes, in the general contour of the face.
"You do not remember me!"
"Let me think," she said, with a calmness that amused him. "Yes, it comes to me. I saw you on the boat that conveyed Madame de Champlain. You are her brother."
"Eustache Boullé, at your service," and he bowed gracefully. "But I did not know you, Mam'selle. You were such a child four years ago. Even then you made an impression upon me."
She was so little used to compliments that it did not stir her in the slightest. She was wondering, and at length she said—
"How did you find me?"
"By hard searching, Mam'selle. I saw your foster-mother—I believe she is that—and she gave me a graphic description of your wanderings. I paused here because the beauty of the place attracted me. And I heard a voice I knew must be human, emulating the birds, so I drew nearer. Will you forgive me when I confess I rifled your store? What plums these are! I did not know that Canada could produce anything so utterly delicious. We have some wild sour ones that get dried and made eatable in the winter, when other things are scarce. And the Indians make a queer-tasting drink out of them."
"I found this tree quite by accident. I never saw it before, and if you will look, there are only two branches that have any fruit. The other side of the tree is barren. And that high branch will give the birds a feast. I do not think I could venture up there," laughing.
"I wondered how you ventured at all. And how you dared come down that way."
His eyes expressed the utmost admiration.