“As your conscience dictates. Can you stand steadfast till our return? There will be much pressure brought to bear upon you. And will you run the risk of our finding your father no longer alive and of a forced return to France for you with François Dupont?”
“But my father, if he should be living? Advise me, I beg of you, for I cannot see what is right.”
“Could you stand the privations, the experiences you would have to endure in a flight to the colonies with only this old man as your protector?”
“I should not be afraid to risk it.”
“Then, my beloved daughter, I advise you to escape while you can. We cannot tell how the bonds may tighten around you, and it may be too late a year, or even six months, from now. We would best seize the opportunity while we may. I know your father would so desire it, and you tell me there is another working for his deliverance. We will trust God for that to be accomplished and get away when we can.”
“Ah, Father, how fortunate a day when I chanced upon you!” sighed Alaine.
He smiled as he remembered that François had said the same words a few minutes before. “One must sometimes dissemble when it is for good,” the old man told himself. “I am no longer a Jesuit, but I have not been one without learning that stratagem is often better than open rebellion.”
Under her friend’s advice and leadership Alaine so comforted herself that François with satisfaction viewed the quiet, somewhat pensive mien. “We are taming the wild bird. I shall yet see you come at my bidding, Alaine, with the fluttering wings, and when we return to France and I face Étienne Villeneau, what joy!” He laughed to himself as he leaned over the side of the vessel. But after a moment he raised his eyes to the blue sky. “Thou up there wilt understand that I do this for thee, for thee,” he murmured.
In the dim distance a faint line of shore indicated that they were nearing the great river. Alaine by Father Bisset’s side watched it grow more and more distinct. For many days she had felt comparatively safe, but now would soon come a crisis. If at the last moment the plot failed; if François should insist upon accompanying them himself, or should send Marie to see that she reached the destination he intended for her, what then? Marie, herself, silent, vigilant, unapproachable, might be suspicious and might follow them. Alaine confided her fears to Father Bisset.
“I have thought of all that,” he replied. “I, myself, am not sure of the woman, the other I can manage. I am prepared for that. We must put our trust in the Lord, my daughter, he will deliver us from the snare of the fowler. ‘Many sorrows shall be to the wicked, but he that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about.’”