After some discussion, Champlain resolved to return to France, and thence to England, to understand the terms of peace, and if possible, to win New France once more.
Ralph Destournier was a Frenchman at heart, though a little English blood ran in his veins. He had a strong desire to see France.
"Will you go?" he asked of Rose.
"Not until the year is ended," she said gravely. "But if you will go—Wanamee and Pani can care for me. I am a little girl no longer."
It was true. There was no more little girl, but there was no more old Quebec. It had already taken on a different aspect. Officers and men in bright uniforms climbed the narrow, crooked streets, with gay jests, in what seemed their rough language; there were little taverns opened, where the fife and drum played an unmelodious part. Religion was free, for there had come to be a number of Huguenots, as well as of the new English church. The poor priests were at their wits' end, but they were well treated.
Eustache Boullé was to go with the Sieur, but he never returned. He took a rather fond farewell of Rose. "If you would go, we might find something of your family," he said. "I once had a slight clew."
"Is it not worth looking after?" asked Destournier, as he and Rose were walking the plateau, since known as the Plains of Abraham. "If you were proved of some notable family—there have been so many over-turns."
"Would you feel prouder of me?"
"No. Do you not know that you are dearer to me as the foundling of Quebec, and the little girl I knew and loved?"
She raised luminous eyes and smiled.