“Or in what condition are the fortifications?”
“No.”
“They are working upon them, so M. Dupont has already told us; so that may pass. We must ask of you but one more thing. Write at our dictation the following words: ‘I have been carried away by the Indians, but am now abandoned on the shore close to Long Point. Come to me as soon as possible. I send this by one who refuses me escort.—Alaine.’”
She looked from one to the other. What did this mean? The questions had seemed trivial and out of proportion to the deed of kidnapping her. She was suspicious, but even her alert mind could see no danger in sending the message which was to restore her to her friends, and she acquiesced without a word of protest.
“Three separate notes, if you please. Address them to Louis Mercier, to Gerard Mercier, to Pierre Boutillier,” came the request. Alaine did as they bade her, and a nod of satisfaction followed the courteous thanks she received. “To-morrow evening you will be free,” she was told. “François, summon some one to wait upon mademoiselle to her room.” And presently appeared an old woman, French and Indian half-breed, who silently conducted the girl to an upper chamber, locked the door upon her and left her alone.
The room was comfortably furnished; there was no lack of order anywhere in the establishment, and Alaine wondered who had the ordering of it. No discourtesy had been shown her, yet she felt distrustful and uneasy. What did it mean? Had she unwittingly brought trouble upon those her best protectors? Upon Papa Louis, under whose roof she dwelt, upon Gerard her almost brother, upon Pierre who had already suffered so much? She caught her breath as she thought of this. Oh, to gain her freedom and warn them! She leaned far out the open window, but the house built with projecting upper story, in the old fashion, gave no means of escape in that direction. She drew back with a sigh. Night and darkness, and howling wolves, and prowling Indians confronted her, perils enough to make a stouter heart quake. Beyond these terrors, she knew not where she was, nor the way home. There was nothing to do but to submit to the inevitable.
With a woman’s heed to appearance she smoothed her gown, brushed from it some of the stains and mud, tucked her soft brown locks under her cap, and was standing looking ruefully at her scarred shoes, when the door opened and the half-breed glided in. Alaine marked the greedy look in the twinkling eyes as they fell upon the silver buckles on her shoes and the chain about her neck, but the eyes shifted before the girl’s look of inquiry, and the summons to supper reminded Alaine that she was in reality very hungry.
She descended the stairs, at the foot of which stood François Dupont. “I await you, mademoiselle. It is a pity that you must take your meal with none but those of the stern sex, yet I trust your appetite is good. If you would prefer you can have your supper served in your own room. Let me thank you for what you have done for France.”
She smiled a little sadly. “I fear it was not so much for France as for my own well liking. After we have eaten, monsieur, I would have further speech with you.”
“To my pleasure; but before we join the others let me give you a word of warning. For me, I am indifferent as to creeds, I am only for France, France Protestant or France Catholic, but with these gentlemen here it is different. I pray you speak not in disfavor of the Church. They believe you—but I will not anticipate our discourse. Let me lead you in.”