Denys unlocked it with some difficulty, threw open the door and unfastened the shutter. “Whew! What a musty old hole! It must be cleaned up. I will attend to that to-morrow. Dump the things in here, and then go for the others.” On the western end was an addition of hewn logs, with big posts set in the corners. Denys marched around and surveyed it. There was a space of neglected ground, with two or three fine trees and a huddle of grape-vines fallen to the ground. It did not look altogether inviting. But just beyond was the Rue de la Tour that led straight out to the old fort, and only a step farther was the church and the priest’s house. Then, it would not be very far from the Renauds. Renée was watching him as he peered about. “It looks a dull place for a little girl!” he exclaimed. “Are you going to live here?” with some curiosity. “Oh, yes. But it will be fixed up. And—a flower garden,” hesitatingly. “I don’t mind if you are here,” and she slipped her hand in his with a gesture of possession. “And we will have a nice old woman to get our meals and make our beds and keep the house tidy. Oh, it will be all right when it is cleared up. And you will soon know some little girls. And we can take walks around.” She started suddenly. A bird up in the tree poured forth a torrent of melody. Her eyes grew luminous, her lips quivered, her pale cheeks flushed. “Oh, birds!” she cried. “I used to talk to them at the château and feed them with crumbs. They would come to my hand.” “You shall tame them here. Oh, we will have nice times together,” and now he pressed her hand. The sweetness of her little face went to his heart. Yes, she was like her mother. Noyan came with the next load, threw off the few parcels, and took his way to Madame Renaud’s. Denys locked his door again and they turned away. “Now we will go and find Mère Lunde. It is up somewhere by the fort. That will be quite a landmark for you. And the great Indian chief, Pontiac, that I told you about at Detroit, lies buried there.” “I do not think I like Indians,” she returned gravely. “Only the babies are so odd, and the little children. It is a pity they should grow up so cruel.” “We have kept very good friends with them thus far.” They had begun to build the new palisades. Yes, here was the fort, and the Guion house, and the grave that she did not care to linger over. Then they turned into the street of the Barns, _La rue des Granges_, and soon found Mère Lunde, who was cooking a savory pottage, and welcomed Gaspard Denys warmly.