"At him!" commanded Mam’selle, standing in the panel of light, laughing diabolically, "It’s a skunk, no doubt; drive him off, Nick; don’t touch him!" Longville escaped, how, he could not tell, for Nick sniffed at his retreating heels well down the highway. Three or four nights after, Longville, discreetly keeping to the road, where he had a perfect right to be, paused before the white house again. It was a dark night, with occasional flashes of moonlight as the wind scattered the clouds. Presently the house door opened and Mam’selle came out with Nick close beside her. They stood quite still on the little lawn, their faces turned upward. And just then Longville could have sworn he heard a sob, a deep, smothered sob, and Nick certainly whined piteously. Then the two went back into the house and Longville, with a nervous start, turned and faced—Gavot! "What do you make of it?" whispered Pierre. "Make of what?" demanded Longville. "Oh, I’ve done some watching myself," Gavot replied, "I’ve watched you _and_ her! A man doesn’t keep to the night when the tavern has a warm place for him. I’ve kept you company, Longville, when you didn’t know it." "Well, then, what’s the meaning that you make out, Pierre?" "The Mam’selle Morey is up to—to tricks," Gavot nodded knowingly, "and she’s not going to escape me." "’Tis not the first caper she has cut," Longville snorted, "and she will well need an eye kept on her." Then the two went amicably arm in arm to Dan’s Place. "Four eyes, brother Longville," said Gavot who always grew nauseously familiar when he dared. "Four eyes on Mam’selle and four _such_ eyes!" *CHAPTER VI* *MAM’SELLE HEARS PART OF THE TRUTH* Jo Morey came out of her house quite boldly and locked the door! She had left Nick inside, a most unusual proceeding. Then she harnessed Molly to the caliche, also an unusual proceeding, for the picturesque carriage was reserved for the use of summer visitors and brought a good price when driven by one of the young French-Canadians from the settlement a few miles away. Openly, indeed encouraging nods and conversation, Jo started toward St. Michael’s in her Sunday best and nicely poised on the high seat. "Good morning, Captain," she greeted as she passed Longville on the road; "I’m off at last, you see! So you can take a rest from watching." "When do you return, Mam’selle?" asked the Captain, quite taken aback by the sight. "That depends," and Jo smiled, another rare proceeding, surely; "the roads are none too good and time is my own these days." Then she bobbed along, the high feather on her absurd hat waving defiance.