The room was rather long, and somewhat narrow. At the far end there was a small altar and a _prie dieu_. A candle was burning and its light defined the ivory crucifix above. In the corner a curtained something that might be a confessional. Indeed, not a few startling confessions had been breathed there. An escritoire with some shelves above, curiously carved, that bespoke its journey across the sea, took a great wall space and seemed almost to divide the room. The window in the front end was quite wide, and the shutters were thrown open for air, though a coarse curtain fell in straight folds from the top. Here was a commodious desk accommodating papers and books, a small table with pipes and tobacco, two wooden chairs and a more comfortable one which the priest proffered to the guest. "Shall we have a light? Marcel, bring a candle." "Nay," protested the visitor, "I enjoy this dimness. One seems more inclined to talk, though I think I have heard a most excellent reason educed for such a course;" and a mirthful twinkle shone in his eyes. The priest laughed softly. "It is hardly applicable here. I sat thinking. The sun has been so brilliant for days that the night brings comfort. You are a stranger here, Monsieur?" "Yes, though it is not my first visit to Detroit. I have gone from New York to Michilimackinac several times, to Montreal, Quebec, to France and back, though I was born there. I am the guest of Monsieur Fleury." The priest made an approving inclination of the head. "One sees many strange things. You have a conglomerate, Pere Rameau. And now a new--shall I say ruler?" "That is the word, Monsieur. And I hope it may last as long as the English reign. We cannot pray for the success of La Belle France any more." "France has her own hard battles to fight. Yet it makes one a little sad to think of the splendid heritage that has slipped from her hands, for which her own discoverers and priests gave up their lives. Still, she has been proved unworthy of her great trust. I, as a Frenchman, say it with sorrow." "You are a churchman, Monsieur?" "A Christian, I hope. For several generations we have been on the other side. But I am not unmindful of good works or good lives." Pere Rameau bowed his head. "What I wished to talk about was a little girl," St. Armand began, after a pause. "Jeanne Angelot, I have heard her called." "Ah, Monsieur, you know something about her, then?" returned the priest, eagerly. "No, I wish I did. I have crossed her path a time or two, though I can't tell just why she interests me. She is bright, vivacious, but curiously ignorant. Why does she live with this Indian woman and run wild?"