I was a girl, inexperienced, innocent of coquetry, and yet I possessed all the instincts of a woman. I had seen that in his eyes which gave me faith--he remembered the past; he had found me attractive; he felt a desire to meet me again. I knew all this--but was that all? Was it a mere passing fervor, a fleeting admiration, to be forgotten in the presence of the next pretty face? Would he dare danger to serve me? to save me from the clutches of Cassion? A smile, a flash of the eyes, is small foundation to build upon, yet it was all I had. Perchance he gave the same encouragement to others, with no serious thought. The doubt assailed me, yet there was no one else in all New France to whom I could appeal. But how could I reach him with my tale? There was but one opportunity--the Governor's ball. He would be there; he had said so, laughingly glancing toward me as he spoke the words, the flash of his eyes a challenge. But it would be difficult. Chevet, Cassion, not for a moment would they take eyes from me, and if I failed to treat him coldly an open quarrel must result. Chevet would be glad of an excuse, and Cassion's jealousy would spur him on. Yet I must try, and, in truth, I trusted not so much in Monsieur de Artigny's interest in me, as in his reckless love of adventure. 'Twould please him to play an audacious trick on La Salle's enemies, and make Cassion the butt of laughter. Once he understood, the game would prove much to his liking, and I could count on his aid, while the greater the danger the stronger it would appeal to such a nature as his. Even though he cared little for me he was a gallant to respond gladly to a maid in distress. Ay, if I might once bring him word, I could rely on his response; but how could that be done? I must trust fortune, attend the ball, and be ready; there was no other choice. 'Tis strange how this vague plan heartened me, and gave new courage. Scarce more than a dream, yet I dwelt upon it, imagining what I would say, and how escape surveillance long enough to make my plea for assistance. Today, as I write, it seems strange that I should ever have dared such a project, yet at the time not a thought of its immodesty ever assailed me. To my mind Rene de Artigny was no stranger; as a memory he had lived, and been portion of my life for three lonely years. To appeal to him now, to trust him, appeared the most natural thing in the world. The desperation of my situation obscured all else, and I turned to him as the only friend I knew in time of need. And my confidence in his fidelity, his careless audacity, brought instantly a measure of peace. I crept back and lay down upon the bed. The tears dried upon my lashes, and I fell asleep as quietly as a tired child. CHAPTER III I APPEAL FOR AID