The wind was helpful to La Salle, but he only half met daylight and saw Jolycœur taking strange shapes.
“Go to Father Hennepin’s old mission house,” he slowly commanded, “and send Monsieur de Tonty directly to me.”
The man, not daring to disobey until he could take refuge in Fort Frontenac with the gates closed behind the explorer, went on this errand.
“What ails Sieur de la Salle?” inquired the cook, coming out of his bakehouse to get this news of a sentinel.
They both watched the Abbé Cavelier making vain efforts to get hold of his misdirected brother.
“Gone mad with pride,” suggested the sentinel. “The less he prospers the loftier I have always heard he bears himself. Would the governor of New France climb the wind with a tread like that?”
Outside the gate La Salle’s limbs failed. The laboring Abbé then dragged him along, and it seemed an immense détour he was obliged to make to pass the extended foundation.
“Now you will believe my words which I spoke this morning concerning the peril we all stand in,” panted this sorely taxed brother. “The Cavelier family is destroyed. My brother La Salle—Robert—my child! Shall I give you absolution?”
“Not yet,” gasped La Salle.