“But, my good Gabriel, I am not likely to trouble you, as when I go from here it will be by land, and in a different direction.”
“'Qui dit averti, dit muni,' madame; no one can tell what may happen, and it may do no harm to know you have one near at hand who would be proud if you called on him for help.”
I was greatly touched by his thoughtfulness, a frank offer coming direct from the heart of a brave man to a woman whom he fears may some day be in need of his service.
“Gabriel, is every one kind in Canada? I do not know why I should meet with such care.”
“We are all saints, no doubt, madame; but that is not the reason!” he returned, gaily, and set off for his boat.
After his departure our life together went on without interruption. By the end of November the whole country was covered with snow, which we hailed with delight, for it meant the speedy arrival of M. de Sarennes, and then—Louisbourg! I had often seen snow as a child at home in Scotland, but there it meant storm and desolation, and, alas! only too frequently suffering and death to man and beast; while here it came as a beauty and a blessing, welcomed by all. Angélique took us over miles of snow-covered fields and through woods that had a charm of softness unknown in summer-time, until we could manage our snow-shoes without mishap.
“You must harden your muscles and exercise your lungs for the journey you have before you,” she declared, “and not shame my training when you take the high-road with Charles.”
Like her mother, she was never tired of talking of M. de Sarennes. He was their only pride, and never was son or brother more precious than was their Charles to them, so I looked forward with keen satisfaction to the day I should start under his care.
They hoped for him by the New-Year, and we all busied ourselves in preparation for the little feast which we agreed should be delayed, if necessary, to welcome his return.
On the last night of the year we sate together about the fire, Angélique laughing and chattering incessantly; her mother sitting with her spinning-wheel, her wedding-gift from the Marquis de Beauharnois—a dainty construction of mahogany tipped with ivory and silver—whirring peacefully, as with skilful fingers she guided the fine flax from her spindle; Lucy at a little distance knitting methodically; and I expectant, excited by Angélique's unrest.