"I did all I could," says Champlain, "to save their poor souls"; so he told the "General" that, supposing Marsolet's story to be true, there was still a way to settle the matter, which was to make the Indians a present, and that he would abandon for that purpose beaver-skins and other property to the value of a thousand livres; but the "General" was deaf to his entreaties. One day, however, when in good humour, he gave some hopes of their deliverance when Marsolet should come to Tadoussac; but the artful rascal, on his arrival, persuaded Kerk that the Indians would not accept any present, and that he had better keep the girls as hostages for the good behaviour of the savages; besides, if he should suffer them to depart, and if anything should happen to them afterwards, the Indians would consider it as his (the General's) fault, and much evil might come of it; whereupon the "General" "stiffened" himself anew, and would not hear of the girls' departure. The poor "sauvagesses" continued to weep and lament, but in vain; nevertheless they kept a high spirit, which manifested itself one day in the presence and greatly to the surprise of the "General" and his officers while at supper, when Espérance roundly reproached Marsolet with his indecency, his villainies and treachery. "You know," she exclaimed, "wretch that you are, that I wished to go to France with Monsieur Champlain, who has brought me up, with every possible kindness, teaching me to pray to God, and many other virtuous things, and that the whole country had consented; but you, instead of having compassion on two poor girls, behave worse than a dog to them; but, remember this, though I am only a girl, I will contrive your death, if possible; and if in future you ever shall dare to approach me, I will plant a knife in your breast, if I should die for it. A dog is better than you: he follows those who have given him existence, but you betray and destroy those among whom you received your being, selling your countrymen for money." Marsolet said that "she had learned her lesson well," and turning to her sister, Charité, sneeringly asked "if she had nothing to say to him." "All that I can tell you," she replied, "my companion has said; I can only add, that if I held your heart, I would eat it, and with better appetite than the meats on that table!"--"Every body admired the courage and discourse of this girl," says Champlain, "who did not speak at all like a 'sauvagesse.'" Some of my readers may possibly differ with him.