“You have no need to tell me that; you have proved it,” said the General. “You are the first friend I have made in this country; from henceforth you will rank first in my estimation and affection.”
So saying, he held out his hand, and Charles Langlade clasped it, saying solemnly, “It is a covenant between thee and me.”
“Let it be so,” answered Montcalm. “And now we must hurry forward. I cannot express to you my anxiety to begin operations. What I have already seen convinces me that we must conquer in the long run.”
“I trust so,” answered Charles; but, nevertheless, in his heart there was a doubt. He knew better than the sanguine General all the difficulties and stumbling-blocks which awaited him—party spirit, jealousies, corruption, treason in high places. But he restrained himself, and would not give utterance to the warning note. “Time enough; he will find it out for himself,” he murmured, as he turned away to give the final orders for their last day’s march.
The thaw had set in now, and a south wind was blowing. The journey was to be finished by boat up the St. Lawrence; there was no danger, and it was the quickest mode of transport.
“I am sorry it is over,” said Mercèdes, as she stood beside her father waiting to embark.
The General looked down upon her and smiled.
“Decidedly Canadian travelling agrees with you; you are looking remarkably well. I think your mother would hardly know you.”
And he was right. The sallow-faced, thin girl had utterly changed: a rich softness, a glow of colour now tinged her cheeks; her lips were red, her eyes clear and bright like stars; the sharpness of feature had given place to a rounded symmetry. She was not beautiful, she could never be that; but she was pleasant to look upon—a picture of youth, wrapped in the dark sable cloak, the hood fastened underneath her chin framing the young face with its dark outline. Ten days of life and exercise in the open air had transformed Mercèdes.
“She’s never looked thus, Monsieur le Marquis, since she was a baby,” said Marthe, “and I used to carry her out into the vineyards. I never could imagine why from a brown rosy child she grew so pale; it’s air she wanted.”