"I have made a long one, monsieur. It may be best to tell you that I come charged with a message for you."
I thought of Madame d'Angoulême. The sister who had been mine for a few minutes, and from whom this priest had cast me out, declaring that God had smitten the pretender when my eclipse laid me at his feet—remembered me in her second exile, perhaps believed in me still. Women put wonderful restraints upon themselves.
Abbé Edgeworth and I looked steadily at each other.
"I hope Madame d'Angoulême is well?"
"She is well, and is still the comforter of his Majesty's misfortune."
"Monsieur the Abbé, a message would need to be very urgent to be listened to to-night. I will give you audience in the morning, or when I return."
We both bowed again. I took Pierre Grignon into the hall for counsel.
In the end he rode with me, for we concluded to send Skenedonk with a party along the east shore.
Though searching for the lost is an experience old as the world, its poignancy was new to me. I saw Eagle tangled in the wild oats of the river. I saw her treacherously dealt with by Indians who called themselves at peace. I saw her wandering out and out, mile beyond mile, to undwelt-in places, and the tender mercy of wolves.
We crossed the ferry and took to the trail, Pierre Grignon talking cheerfully.