“That you order a boat to take us ashore.”
“Yes, yes. See to it, my man,” he said to a passing sailor. “Send the skipper to me.”
But when the skipper appeared François was beyond the ability of giving orders. “A boat was to take mademoiselle and myself ashore,” explained Father Bisset, blandly. “Monsieur has been testing too many of the good wines; I will assist him to his room.” Still grasping François’s arm, he led him to his cabin and saw him safely abed. “It was too heady,” murmured François, drowsily.
Leaving him in a heavy slumber, Father Bisset sought Alaine. “The moment has arrived,” he told her; “the boat is ready to go.”
Marie stood watching them.
“Adieu, Marie,” said Alaine.
The woman did not move, but simply returned, “Adieu, mademoiselle.”
Up the narrow, crooked streets of the town the fugitives went, their faces set in the direction of the convent. They walked rapidly, and Alaine nearly lost breath as she climbed the steep rocky way, her companion panting beside her. They paused near the market-place. “Now we are here, the next thing is to get out,” said Father Bisset. “We will not linger long, my child, for we are safe only for so many hours, and we must make the most of them.” And he stalked on with increasing speed, looking anxiously around as he turned from one crooked street to another. From time to time he looked at Alaine thoughtfully, as if puzzling over some question. At last he entered a shop, bidding the girl to follow him, and saying, “I would have you remember, my daughter, that your brother, though younger, is about your height.” The solution to these enigmatical words was evident when he purchased a suit of rough clothes, which he had made up into a bundle and took under his arm. He paused at the door of the shop as he was going out, and addressed the shopkeeper. “Could monsieur recommend a cheap and comfortable lodging where two could rest and await the arrival of the lad just mentioned?” Monsieur could and did, with voluble directions pointing the way.
A few minutes of chaffering and the bargain with a sturdy Frenchwoman was made; but this done, they were established for the nonce in a by-street out of the way of general traffic.
About dawn there issued from the house two figures; one of a lad in coarse clothing and the other of the priest who had long ago exchanged his soutane for a peasant’s dress. Down toward the water front they took their way among the groups of singing boatmen and coureurs de bois; farther and farther along till the spars of the vessel in which François Dupont still lay asleep were lost to sight, and the waters of the St. Lawrence before them were free of any craft save some light canoes. Yet farther out, nearer the sea, the ships of a fleet were sailing toward Quebec, the commander unconscious that one victory to result from his attack would be that affecting a girl fleeing from a persistent suitor.