Madeleine gave him a reproachful glance.
"My mother hates all Protestants. The heathen Indians are merely animals in her sight; but such as you and I are children of the devil."
"The fire beyond the palisade is burning more strongly," he said.
The door was open, and the glow entered the cabin like moonlight.
"It is to keep away the wolves. You do not suspect—me?"
"No, no," he said, in a manner that brought a smile to her mouth. "For myself I care nothing, but I may not forget my comrades. I must be upon my guard for their sake."
The dame reappeared, a mantle over her shoulders and her hands. She smiled grimly, and gently addressed her guest:
"I have my birds to feed. They are the sole companions of my loneliness, and each night finds them awaiting me beyond the palisade. They are brighter birds than those of my country, but sadder because songless. The saints protect you, sir, in your sleep to-night."
"Shall I come with you, mother?" said Madeleine.
"Why upon this night more than others?" answered Madame bitterly. "Your way is never mine. When you shall learn to pray with me then you may walk with me."