"Yes; in Father de Ca.s.son's care."

"Thank G.o.d! But how did you do it? How did you get her here, and yourself?"

Menard rose and paced up and down the room. As he walked, he told the story of the capture at La Gallette, of the days in the Onondaga village, of the council and the escape. When he had finished, there was a long silence, while the Major sat with contracted brows.

"You've done a big thing, Menard," he said at last, "one of the biggest things that has been done in New France. But have you thought of the Governor--of how he will take it?"

"Yes."

"It may not be easy. Denonville doesn't know the Iroquois as you and I do. He is elated now about his victory,--he thinks he has settled the question of white supremacy. If I were to tell him to-morrow that he has only made a bitter enemy of the Senecas, and that they will not rest until they wipe out this defeat, do you suppose he would believe it? You have given a pledge to the Iroquois that is entirely outside of the Governor's view of military precedent. To tell the truth, Menard, I don't believe he will like it."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't know the strength of the Five Nations. He thinks they would all flee before our regulars just as the Senecas did. Worse than that, he doesn't know the Indian temperament. I'm afraid you can't make him understand that to satisfy their hunger for revenge will serve better than a score of orations and treaties."

"You think he won't touch La Grange?"

"I am almost certain of it."

"Then it rests with me."

"What do you mean?"

"I gave another pledge, d'Orvilliers. If the Governor won't do this--I shall have to do it myself."

Save for a moment's hesitation Menard's voice was cool and even; but he had stopped walking and was looking closely at the commandant.

D'Orvilliers was gazing at the floor.

"What do you mean by that?" he said slowly, and then suddenly he got up. "My G.o.d, Menard, you don't mean that you would--"

"Yes."

"That can't be! I can't allow it."

"It may not be necessary. I hope you are mistaken about the Governor."

"I hope I am--but no; he won't help you. He's not in the mood for paying debts to a weakened enemy. And--Menard, sit down. I must talk plainly to you. I can't go on covering things up now. I don't believe you see the matter clearly. If it were a plain question of your mission to the Onondagas--if it were--Well, I want you to tell me in what relation you stand to Mademoiselle St. Denis."

The Captain was standing by the chair. He rested his arms on the high back, and looked over them at d'Orvilliers.

"She is to be my wife," he said.

D'Orvilliers leaned back and slowly shook his head.

"My dear fellow," he said, "when your story goes to Quebec, when the Chateau learns that you have promised the punishment of La Grange in the name of France, and then of this,--of Mademoiselle and her relations to yourself and to La Grange,--do you know what they will do?"

Menard was silent.

"They will laugh--first, and then--"

"I know," said the Captain, "I have thought of all that."

"You have told all this in your report?"

"Yes."

"So you would go on with it?"

"Yes; I am going on with it. There is nothing else I can do. I couldn't have offered to give myself up; they already had me. The fault was La Grange's. What I did was the only thing that could have been done to save the column; if you will think it over, you will see that. I know what I did,--I know I was right; and if my superiors, when I have given my report, choose to see it in another way, I have nothing to say. If they give me my liberty, in the army or out of it, I will find La Grange. If not, I will wait."

"Why not give that up, at least, Menard?"

"If I give that up, we shall have a war with the Iroquois that will shake New France as she has never been shaken before."

D'Orvilliers started to speak, but checked the words. Menard slung his musket behind his shoulders.

"Wait, Menard. I don't know what to say. I must have time to think. If you wish, I will not give notice of your arrival to the Governor. I will leave the matter of reporting in your hands." He rose, and fingered the papers on the table. "You see how it will look--there is the maid--La Grange seeks your life, you seek his--"

Menard drew himself up, his hat in his hand.

"It shall be pushed to the end, Major. You know me; you know Captain la Grange. There will be excitement, perhaps,--you may find it hard to avoid taking one side or the other. I must ask which side is to be yours."

D'Orvilliers winced, and for a moment stood biting his lip; then he stepped forward and took both Menard's hands.

"You shouldn't have asked that," he said. "G.o.d bless you, Menard! G.o.d bless you!"

Menard paused in the door, and turned.

"Shall I need a pa.s.s to enter the hospital?"

"Oh, you can't go there. La Grange is there."

"Yes; I will report to him. He shall not say that I have left it to hearsay."

"But he will attack you!"

"No; I will not fight him until I have an answer from the Governor."

"You can't get in now until morning."

"Very well, good-night."

"You will be careful, Menard?"

The Captain nodded and left the room. Wishing to settle his thoughts, he pa.s.sed through the palisade gate and walked down the beach. The commissary men were loading the canoes, threescore of them, that were to carry the garrison on its westward journey. Already the twilight was deepening, and the lanterns of the officers were dimmed by the glow from a hundred Indian camp-fires.

From within the fort came a long bugle-call. There was a distant rattling of arms and shouting of commands, then the tramp of feet, and the indistinct line came swinging through the sally-port. They halted at the water's edge, broke ranks, and took to the canoes, paddling easily away along the sh.o.r.e until they had faded into shadows. A score of Indians stood watching them, stolidly smoking stone pipes and holding their blankets close around them.