It required an early start, indeed, to reach New York in time for the service. Alaine put up a frugal lunch, and with others, who had not gone the evening before, they started forth, the men armed, for who knew what lurking foe might not come upon them in the lonely woods. Singing they went: those old songs of Marot’s and of Beza’s so dear to the Huguenot heart. To-day the talk was serious. Fierce and fiercer had grown the conflict between Romanists and Protestants. James II. of England had been compelled to abdicate; France had declared war against England; a Committee of Safety had intrusted Jacob Leisler with the command of the fort in New York, and to him the eyes of the people were turned. Would the French descend and threaten New York? Would the Indians join them and there be worse to be expected?
“Ah, la la,” sighed Alaine, as she stepped briskly along by the side of Papa Louis, “I see you are anxious to discuss the latest news with M. Sicard. Leave me to trudge along with the younger lads and go you, good papa, to those ahead.”
He looked at her with a smile. “So ready to be rid of papa? However, I do wish to discuss these matters, and I will send back to you some one who has been casting longing looks this way ever since we started. Approach, Pierre, and defend my daughter from any naughty enemy who may descend upon us,” he cried to one of the young men striding along in his clumping sabots and with gun in hand.
A smile lighted up the grave face of the youth. “Papa Louis is always a good companion,” he returned; “I fear mademoiselle will lose by the exchange.”
“Variety, my dear boy, variety; we need it. Pray, how would taste one’s pot à feu if but one ingredient composed it? A little of this, a little of that, and we have a dish fit for a king. So with life, my good Pierre; one needs a mixture. I leave you to help to a good flavor my daughter’s pottage to-day. Be not onion to make her weep, nor pepper to cause her anger.” And, laughing, Papa Louis gayly stepped ahead, and Pierre fell into a pace to match Alaine’s.
“You undertake a long walk,” Pierre said, after a moment’s silence.
“Yes, but you know our cow was hurt, and ’twas not safe to leave her last night, so I stayed behind to keep Papa Louis company, although Gerard begged to do so. But papa would not hear of Mère Michelle’s going alone, and thus it settled itself. I have long wanted to take this journey. I am young and strong, and why not? Mère Michelle, active as she is, could not well stand it, but I am sure I can.” She paused and looked at her tall companion, who, always grave, to-day seemed more so than usual. “I wanted to tell you, Pierre,” she began again, “that I do not trust that M. Dupont who was in our village yesterday, and also upon the day of the fête. He claims affiliation with us, but I believe he is a Papist.”
“Even so, there are some good Papists,” returned Pierre, quietly.
Alaine gave a little scream of protest. “You to say so, Pierre! You who began your life in the midst of horrors and who have suffered the loss of all nearest to you?”
He gave her one of his rare smiles. “Do you remember what the good Beza said in reply to the king of Navarre? ‘Sire, it belongs in truth to the Church of God, in whose name I speak, to endure blows and not inflict them. But it will also please your Majesty to remember that she is an anvil that has worn out many hammers.’”