Whilst I was contemplating this spectacle with a sort of pleasure mixed with terror, the Indian and his spouse left me. I looked for them as I ascended the river-side above the Falls, and soon discovered them in a place suited to their grief. They were lying down upon the grass, with a number of old men, near some human bones wrapped in bear-skins. Astonished at everything I had seen during the last few hours, I sat down near the young mother, and said, “What is all this, my sister?” She replied: “My brother, the earth of our country and the ashes of our forefathers follow us in our exile.” “And how,” I asked, “have you been reduced to such a misfortune?” The daughter of Céluta responded, “We are the remains of the Natchez. After the massacre of our nation by the French, to avenge their compatriots, those of our brothers who escaped from the conquerors found refuge with our neighbors, the Chikassas. We remained tranquilly with them for some time; but seven moons ago, the white men from Virginia took possession of our fields, affirming that they had been given to them by a king of Europe. So we raised our eyes to heaven, and, laden with the remains of our forefathers, started on our way across the desert. I was confined during the march, and as my milk was bad on account of my grief, it caused my child to die.” As she spoke, the mother wiped her eyes with her hair. I wept also. After a while I said, “My sister, let us adore the Great Spirit; everything happens by His command. We are all travellers; our fathers were the same; but there is a place where we shall find rest. If I were not afraid of my tongue being as indiscreet as that of a white man, I would ask of you if you have heard speak of Chactas the Natchez.” At these words the Indian woman looked at me, and asked, ‘’Who has spoken to you of Chactas the Natchez? “I replied, “Wisdom.” The Indian rejoined, “I will tell you what I know, because you drove away the flies from the body of my son, and uttered good words concerning the Great Spirit. I am the daughter of the daughter of René, the European whom Chactas had adopted. Chactas, who had received baptism, and René, my unfortunate grandfather, perished in the massacre.” “Man passes constantly from grief to grief,” I replied, bending myself with humility. “You might also perhaps be able to give me news of Father Aubry?”