“You were not of our party,” I said gravely. “Are you a soldier of M. de Baugis?”
“No, Madame,” and he turned facing me, his countenance a pleasant one. “I am not a soldier at all, but I serve M. de Tonty.”
“Ah, I am glad of that. You will bear to your master a message?”
“Perhaps, Madame,” his tone somewhat doubtful. “You are the wife of Monsieur Cassion?”
“Do not hesitate because of that,” I hastened to say, believing I understood his meaning. “While it is true I am legally the wife of Francois Cassion, my sympathies now are altogether with the Sieur de Artigny. I would have you ask M. de Tonty to confer with me.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“You have served with De Artigny? You know him well?”
“Three years, Madame; twice he saved my life on the great river. M. de Tonty shall receive your message.”
I could not eat, although I made the endeavor, and finally crossed to the window, opened the heavy wooden shutters, and gazed without. What a marvelous scene that was! Never before had my eyes looked upon so fair a view, and I stood silent, and fascinated. My window opened to the westward, and I gazed down from the very edge of the vast rock into the wide valley. Great tree tops were below, and I had to lean far out to see the silvery waters lapping the base of the precipice, but, a little beyond, the full width of the noble stream became visible, decked with islands, and winding here and there between green-clad banks, until it disappeared in the far distance. The sun touched all with gold; the wide meadows opposite were vivid green, while many of the trees crowning the bluffs had already taken on rich autumnal coloring. Nor was there anywhere in all that broad expanse, sign of war or death. It was a scene of peace, so silent, so beautiful, that I could not conceive this as a land of savage cruelty. Far away, well beyond rifle shot, two loaded canoes appeared, skimming the surface of the river. Beyond these, where the meadows swept down to the 315 stream, I could perceive black heaps of ashes, and here and there spirals of smoke, the only visible symbols of destruction. A haze hid the distant hills, giving to them a purple tinge, like a frame encircling the picture. It was all so soft in coloring my mind could not grasp the fact that we were besieged by warriors of the Iroquois, and that this valley was even now being swept and harried by those wild raiders of the woods.