No rain fell, but the wind was terrific in its force. We were obliged to lie flat on the sand. The air was filled with confused torrents of sound, so deafening that we could not make ourselves heard one to the other. It was over in ten minutes. The sky cleared, the sun shone; the lake waters subsided; the sounds died away, and very suddenly. In the minute's calm that followed it seemed as if, in all that land, there were no stirring of a leaf, a twig, or fin of fish, or wing of fowl. There was again a sudden change of wind, and we knew the very moment when the upper air currents, cool and crisp with a touch of Arctic frost, swept down upon the earth and brought refreshment. In another quarter of an hour there was no trace of the storm on the lake; but behind us, on each side of the trail, we saw great trees uprooted.
"I can leave you and André now, and with a clear conscience, to your fishing," he said, as he ran down his canoe.
I felt positively grateful to him for not insisting on taking me back with him; it would have hurt old André's pride as well as feelings.
"We 'll bring home fish enough for supper," I said with fine amateur assurance.
"I warn you 'We are seven' plus the two Montagnais; they stay to-night."
"If I don't make good, André will." And André smiled in what I thought a particularly significant way.
We watched the swift course of his canoe over the lake. Just as he was about to round a small promontory, that would hide him from our sight, he stood up, and swung the dripping paddle high above his head. I waved my hand in answering greeting.
André turned to me with a smile. "The seignior has a look of that other—but he is not the same."
What an obsession it was with this man of ninety! I watched him preparing lines and bait. The canoe had passed from sight.
"André," I said, speaking on the impulse of the moment, "I want to go back to camp."