Thus the lad, who had never in all his adventurous career dreamed of acquiring worldly riches, neared his native land possessed of wealth so great that it might be envied of princes. The homeward voyage was quick and prosperous, and unmarked by incident save their pursuit by a great Spanish fleet which they encountered in the Bay of Biscay. This danger was escaped by their superior speed and seamanship, and at length Rene de Veaux saw the spires and roofs of that same seaport from which he had sailed for the New World, in company with his Uncle Laudonniere, nearly four years before. Tidings of their return, and some rumors of the brave doings of De Gourges and those who sailed with him, had preceded them. So, as the three ships sailed into the harbor with banners flying, sails glistening like white clouds in the bright sunlight, and strains of martial music issuing from them, the bells of the little town rang a merry peal of welcome, and the quay was thronged with people in holiday attire, eager to learn of their voyage to the New World. A triumphal procession and fetes of various kinds had been arranged to give honor to the victors; but Rene de Veaux was too anxious to reach his uncle and be the first to take to him the tidings of his own safe return, to care for these things. So he eluded those who would have made a hero of him, and, travelling by post, made all speed towards Paris. In the same little unpretentious dwelling in which he had first greeted his nephew years before, the old soldier, Rene de Laudonniere, sat one chill autumn evening, musing beside a small fire. His surroundings were poor, and his fine face was haggard and careworn. As he sat, in his loneliness, his thoughts were in the New World, and with the brave lad whom he had lost there. His musings were interrupted by the entrance of an old servant, who was none other than that Francois who served the family of De Veaux for so many years, and who had now joined his poor fortunes with those of the old chevalier. As he quietly opened the door, he announced: "There is one without who would have speech with thee, but he refuses to give his name." "What manner of person is he?" "As well as I may judge, he is young, tall, dark, and has the air of being from foreign parts." "Well, show him in. His presence will at least divert my mind from sorrowful thoughts." With a quick, firm tread, a young man entered the room and stood for a moment silently regarding Laudonniere. The light from the fire was not sufficient to disclose his features, and the other had no suspicion of who he was. At the same time he felt strangely moved by the young man's presence, and also remained silent, waiting for him to speak. "Uncle." The old man started at the word, and leaned eagerly forward. "Uncle, dost thou not know thy Rene?" "My Rene! Rene de Veaux? He is dead in the New World," cried Laudonniere, trembling with excitement.