"Ah, you brave Frenchmen," said she to De Ligny, advancing to him as he stood apart, twisting his mustaches and not unmindful of this very possibility of a conversation with the captive. "You brave Frenchmen, how can we thank you for our salvation? It was all so horrible!" "It is our duty to save all, Madame," rejoined De Ligny; "our happiness unspeakable to save such as Madame. I swear by my sword, I had as soon expected to find an angel with the Iroquois as to meet there Madame! Quebec--all Quebec has told me who Madame was and is. And I am your slave." "Oh, sir, could you but mean that!" and there was turned upon him the full power of a gaze which few men had ever been able to withstand. The blood of De Ligny tingled as he bowed and replied. "If Madame could but demand one proof." Mary Connynge stepped closer to him. "Hush!" she said. "Speak low! Do not let it seem that we are interested. Keep your own counsel. Can you do this?" The eyes of the young officer gleamed. He was bold enough to respond. This his temptress noted. He nodded. "You see that man--the tall one, John Law? Listen! It is from him I ask you to save me. Oh, sir, there is my captivity!" "What! Your husband?" "He is not my husband." "_Mais_--a thousand pardons. The child--your pardon." "Pish! 'Tis the child of an Indian woman." "Oh!" The blood again came to the young gallant's forehead. "Listen, I tell you! I have been scarce better than a prisoner in this man's hands. He has abused me, threatened me, would have beaten me--" "Madame--Mademoiselle!" "'Tis true. We have been far in the West, and I could not escape. Good Providence has now brought my rescue--and you, Monsieur! Oh! tell me that it has brought me safety, and also a friend--that it has brought me you!" With every pulse a-tingle, every vein afire, what could the young gallant do? What but yield, but promise, but swear, but rage? "Hush!" said Mary Connynge, her own eyes gleaming. "Wait! The time will come. So soon as we reach the settlements, I leave him, and forever! Then--" Their hands met swiftly. "He has abandoned me," murmured Mary Connynge. "He has not spoken to me for weeks, other than words of 'Yes,' or 'No,' 'Do this,' or 'Do that!' Wait! Wait! How soon shall we be at Montréal?" "Less than a month. 'Twill seem an age, I swear!" "Madam," interrupted Law, "pardon, but Monsieur Joncaire bids us be ready. Come, help me arrange the packs for our journey. Perhaps Lieutenant de Ligny--for so I think they name you, sir--will pardon us, and will consent to resume his conversation later." "Assuredly," said De Ligny. "I shall wait, Monsieur." "So, Madam," said Law to Mary Connynge, as they at last found themselves alone in the lodge, arranging their few belongings for transport, "we are at last to regain the settlements, and for a time, at least, must forego our home in the farther West. In time--" "Oh, in time! What mean you?" "Why, we may return."