“Like what?”
“There is no fit simile in our tongue, light 74 as it is. It may be that in the Iroquois I shall find the words. It should be something about the singing brooks or the voice of the leaves at night.”
The lad was in such buoyant spirits that Menard had to harden himself for the rebuke which he must give. With the Indian tribes Menard had the tact, the control of a situation, that would have graced a council of great chiefs; but in matters of discipline, the blunter faculties and language of the white men seemed to give his wit no play. Now, as nearly always, he spoke abruptly.
“Have you forgotten our talk of this morning, Danton?”
“No,” replied the boy, looking up in surprise.
The night had none of the dampness that had left a white veil over the morning just gone. The moon was half hidden behind the western trees. The sky, for all the dark, was blue and deep, set with thousands of stars, each looking down at its mate in the shining water.
“I spoke of the importance of keeping our own counsel.”
Danton began to feel what was coming. He looked down at the ground without replying. 75
“To-night Mademoiselle has repeated a part of our conversation.”
“Mademoiselle,––why, she is one of our party. She knows about us,––who we are, what we are going for––”