A mile beyond the station, the three gold-seekers left the main road and plunged into a rough wood-track that led to the lake. Here the darkness was intense; the trees formed a thick screen overhead, through which only occasional glimpses of a narrow lane of stars could be obtained.
"This is terrible," gasped Bidiane, as her foot struck a root; "lift your feet high, Claudine."
Claudine gave her a hand. She was almost hysterical from listening to the groaning on ahead. "Since the day of my husband's death, I have not laughed so much," she said, winking away the nervous tears in her eyes. "I do not love fun as much as some people, but when I laugh, I laugh hard."
"My aunt will be in bed to-morrow," sighed Bidiane; "what a pity that she is such a goose."
"She is tough," giggled Claudine, "do not disturb yourself. It is you that I fear for."
At last, the black, damp, dark road emerged on a clearing. There stood the Indian's dwelling,—small and yellow, with a fertile garden before it, and a tiny, prosperous orchard at the back.
"You must enter this house some day," whispered Claudine. "Everything shines there, and they are well fixed. Nannichette has a sewing-machine, and a fine cook-stove, and when she does not help her husband make baskets, she sews and bakes."
"Will her husband approve of this expedition?"
"No, no, he must have gone to the shore, or Nannichette would not undertake it,—listen to what Mirabelle Marie says."