“Somehow, Diane, when I try to picture my return, I cannot imagine how it will be. Many times before have I started on such expeditions without a thought; this time it is entirely different. I cannot help remembering—it was less than a year ago—St. Helène’s fate. Then De Clermont, Bienville, De Bellefonds, De la Motte, were close friends and trusty comrades, with whom I fought and camped and hunted; where are they? Gallant gentlemen, they have laid down their lives, gaily and carelessly, forcing and country. _Mort dieu!_ what will you? A day sooner or later makes but little difference. Shall I make a nightmare of death?” One thing, evident and definite, seemed to clear Diane’s dazzled senses—du Chesne had turned to her for comfort. She held his hand with a strong compelling pressure which had in it no trace of selfish sentiment. “But there are others, my cousin, whose duty compels them constantly to go upon such expeditions, and who have ever returned unharmed.” “Yes, but to you I do not mind confessing that for the last few days I have been unnerved by strange fancies. It is because another’s fate depends upon my own. It is for her, so young, so tender and trusting, without protection of friend or relative; at this thought the heart melts within me, and there is nothing to be done. Diane, you have ever been strong and true; you could not fail one who trusts you.” The strength of one dedicated to a pure and elevated purpose flamed into Mademoiselle de Monesthrol’s eyes; all her face grew nobly luminous. Every word she spoke was crystal clear, coming straight from the heart. “You can trust me, du Chesne. I will be to Lydia a loving sister; I will place her welfare before my own. With our Blessed Lady’s help I will be as true and tender to her as I would be to you.” “In life or death I commit her to your charge. You have removed my heaviest care.” Du Chesne bent reverently to kiss the warm hand that clasped his own. “I shall have perfect peace in trusting to the loyalty of my brave and tender sister.” CHAPTER XX. _PREPARING FOR THE EXPEDITION._ PIERRE LE BER had lately been occupied in painting upon a piece of fair white linen a picture of the Virgin, and this he had embellished with all the beauties which an ardent imagination could suggest. “_Ciel!_” cried Nanon, regarding the painting attentively, “It is a beautiful picture, and in truth it resembles our demoiselle.” This speech greatly scandalized Anne Barroy. “It is not sufficient that this proud turkey would claim for her mistress highest rank on earth; she would fain push her to the front among the heavenly host as well,” she whispered to one of her familiars.