That afternoon Marie was riding across the Winter Valley to her father's plantation at the Pascal River. Angers was driving ahead. Beside Marie rode Tryon silent and attentive. Arrived at the homestead, she said to him in the shadow of the naoulis: "Hugh Tryon, what would you do to prove the love you say you have for me?"
"All that a man could do I would do."
"Can you see the Semaphore from here?"
"Yes, there it is clear against the sky—look!"
But the girl did not look. She touched her eyelids with her finger-tips, as though they were fevered, and then said: "Many have escaped. They are searching for Carbourd and—"
"Yes, Marie?"
"And M. Laflamme—"
"Laflamme!" he said sharply. Then, noticing how at his brusqueness the paleness of her face changed to a startled flush for an instant, his generosity conquered, and he added gently: "Well, I fancied he would try, but what do you know about that, Marie?"
"He and Carbourd were friends. They were chained together in the galleys, they lived—at first—together here. They would risk life to return to France."
"Tell me," said he, "what do you know of this? What is it to you?"