“That will depend upon ourselves, rather than upon your visions, I’m thinking,” said Le Genevois. “We must have courage, my friends. The signs are not good when we call for signs. If we despond, we are undone.”
“Stay—hark!” said Fourneaux, interrupting him eagerly. “I hear sounds.”
“The wind only.”
“No!—hist.”
They bent forward in the attitude of listeners, but heard nothing. They had begun again to speak, when an Indian, covered with leaves artfully glued upon his person, stood suddenly among them. They started to their feet and grasped their weapons.
“Ami!” was the single word of the intruder, at he stretched out his arms in signification of friendship.
“Said I not?” demanded the magician, confidently. “This is our man.”
His assurance was confirmed by the savage, who spoke the French sufficiently to make himself understood. He came from Oolenoe, and a few sentences sufficed to place both parties in possession of their mutual plans. The outlaws were not without friends in La Caroline. They were to find their way once more into that fortress. They had no fears from the sagacity of Laudonniere, during the absence of the youthful but vigilant D’Erlach; and, for the latter, he was to be disposed of by Oolenoe. And now the question arose, who should venture to “bell the cat?” who should venture himself within the walls of La Caroline?
“Ah!” said one of the conspirators, “if we could only bring Le Genré to his senses. He would be the man.”