CHAPTER XII
GENERAL JACQUES
Father Bisset stood by the brink of the rushing stream and looked up and down its banks. “Let us reflect,” he said. “He will sleep late, till daylight, perhaps, and he will not at once realize that I do not intend to return. As for Marie, I think she will say nothing, for it would do no good, and but bring blame upon her. I think he will begin to suspect when he receives the packet I left for him, a purse which he handed to me for your use.”
“He dared to do that!”
“Yes; but it was kindly meant, and I was obliged to receive it, but not to retain it. Very well, then, he discovers the purse, and after a time he comes to himself, and will immediately set out to make inquiry at the convent. We have not been there, then we have outwitted him and have escaped, though perhaps he will not think I have taken you out of the town, and he will search there first. All this will take time, and we have a good start. I think we are safe.”
Alaine’s hand on his arm tightened. “And you think there is no danger from him? He will not follow?”
“He may eventually, but we have some hours’ start. He must first satisfy himself that I do not intend to return, and that you are at none of the convents or anywhere in Quebec. The sleeping potion which I put in the wine will not lose its effect at once, and he will be stupid all day.”
“I cannot imagine how you were able to do this,” Alaine said, thoughtfully. “Where did you get the potion?”
“I took care to provide myself with several necessities when I left France, and in case of emergency I brought with me one or two weapons quite as useful as a sword or a pistol. I know how to use certain drugs, but I know little about wielding implements of war. My little possessions, you may remember, were brought aboard the vessel with me; some of them remain there, the rest I have here.”
The soft purple light of an early October morning hovered over the lofty bluffs of Point Levi, and a delicate mist floated above plain and river. The boatmen were beginning to gather, and their songs were wafted upon the morning air. Silent and sleeping the town still lay, its people unaware of the approach of a little fleet, and not dreaming that the guns of the fort would soon bellow forth a savage greeting to Sir William Phipps.
To the fact of their being neither Dutch nor English was now due the safety of Alaine and her companion. A renegade priest might receive some sufferance from the friends of Frontenac, himself none too fond of the Jesuits, but with war upon them, the French would have shown small mercy to one from the British colony of New York. Therefore Father Bisset impressed it upon Alaine, “We are French; we are from Rouen; we have come to make our fortunes. Henceforth I am your uncle Jacques, and thus you must address me. A boy and his uncle will not be so easily traced as a girl and the man she calls father. We will trudge along, my nephew, and get a little beyond the town; we shall not be very long in meeting some of those wild woodmen of whom we both have heard much; we shall in all probability have to spend some time with them, therefore prepare yourself for a rough life. For you, my child, it will be a hard experience; for me, well, he must expect it who flees his country. Fugitives from justice are many of these coureurs de bois, and a fellow feeling will do much toward establishing a good understanding.”