“Your pardon, Madame. Ah, I understand it all now. You were supposed to have been drowned in 292 the great lake, but were saved by De Artigny. ’Twill be a surprise for Monsieur, but in this land, we witness strange things. Mon Dieu! see, they come yonder; ’tis Boisrondet and his men.”
They approached in silence, mere shadowy figures, whose numbers I could not count, but those in advance bore a helpless body in their arms, and my heart seemed to stop its beating, until I heard De Artigny’s voice in cheerful greeting.
“What, still here, Madame, and the gate beyond open,” he took my hand, and lifted it to his lips. “My congratulations; your work was well done, and our lives thank you. Madame Cassion, this is my comrade, Francois Boisrondet, whose voice I was never more glad to hear than this night. I commend him to your mercy.”
Boisrondet, a mere shadow in the night, swept the earth with his hat.
“I mind me the time,” he said courteously, “when Rene did me equal service.”
“The savages have fled?”
“’Twas short, and sweet, Madame, and those who failed to fly are lying yonder.”
“Yet some among you are hurt?”
“Barbeau hath an ugly wound––ay, bear him along, lads, and have the cut looked to––but as for the rest of us, there is no serious harm done.”