“I believe I do trust too easily, my friend,” said I. “But one thing I know, and that is this: I will make never a mistake in trusting you, and some other faithful friends whom I might name.” This seemed to Ba’tiste too obvious to need reply, so he merely wished me good fortune as I sprang ashore and made haste up the trail. I made haste—but alas, not back toward Grand Pré! In the bitter after-days I had leisure to curse the obstinate folly which led me to carry out my plan of delay instead of hurrying straight to Yvonne’s side. But I had made up my mind that the best time to return to De Lamourie’s was about the end of evening—and my dull wits failed to see in Le Fûret’s action any sufficient cause to change my plans. It never occurred to me, conceited fool that I was, that the causes which had swayed the Black Abbé to my will the night before might in the meantime have ceased to work. Even had this idea succeeded in penetrating my thick apprehension, I suppose it would have made no difference. I should have felt sure that the abbé’s scoundrel crew would choose none but the dim hours after midnight for anything their malice might intend. The fact is, I had been yielding to inauthoritative impulses and vague premonitions till the reaction had set in, determining me to be at all costs coolly reasonable. Now Fortune with her fine irony loves to emphasize the fact that the slave of reason often proves the most pitiable of fools. Such was I when I turned to my right from the ferry, and strode through the scented, leafy dusk to the open flax-fields of the Le Marchand settlement, though the disregarded monitor within me was urging that I should turn to the left, through the old beech woods, to Grand Pré—and Yvonne. The Le Marchand settlement in those days consisted of six little farms, each with its strip of upland flax-field and apple-orchard, and a bit of rich, secluded dyke held in common. All the Le Marchands—father and five sons—still owned their hereditary allegiance to the Sieur de Briart, and paid him their little rents as occasion offered. My welcome was not such as is commonly accorded to the tax-gatherer. These retainers of my uncle’s made me feel that I was myself their seigneur; and their rents, paid voluntarily and upon their own reckonings, were in effect a love-gift. I supped—chiefly upon buckwheat cakes—at the cottage of Le Marchand _père_, and then, dark having fallen softly upon the quiet fields, I set out at a gentle pace for Grand Pré village. Soon after I got into the still dark of the woods the moon rose clear of the Gaspereau hills, and thrust long white fingers toward me through the leafage. The silence and the pale, elusive lights presently got a grip upon my mood, and my anxieties doubled, and trebled, and crowded upon each other, till I found myself walking at a breathless pace, just the hither side of a run. I stopped short, with a laugh of vexation, and forced myself to go moderately.