"He is a boy, Father. These tales may be true enough. Why not? They would fit as well any idle lieutenant in Quebec, who is lucky enough to have an eye, and a pair of shoulders, and a bit of the King's gold in his purse. This maid is the daughter of a gentleman, Father; she is none of your Lower Town jades. And Danton may be young and foolish,--as may we all have been,--but he is a gentleman born." "Very well," replied the priest, looking with regret at the failing light, and beginning to gather his brushes. "I will counsel her, but I fear it will do little good. If the maid is sick at heart, and we attempt to guide her thoughts, we may but drive the trouble deeper in. It is the same with some of the Indian maidens, when they have left the tribe for the Mission. Now and again there comes a time, even with piety to strengthen them,--and this maid has little,--when the yearning seems to grow too strong to be cured. Sometimes they go back. One died. It was at Sault St. Francis in the year of the--" "Yes, yes," Menard broke in. "We have only one fact to remember; there must be no delay in carrying out the Governor's orders. We cannot change our plans because of this maid." "We must not let her understand, M'sieu." Menard had been standing, with a shoulder against the tree, alternately puffing at his pipe and lowering it, scowling meanwhile at the ground. Now he suddenly raised his head and chuckled. "It will be many a year since I have played the beau, Father. It may be that I have forgotten the role." He spread out his hands and looked at the twisted fingers. "But I can try, like a soldier. And there are three of us, Father Claude, there are three of us." He turned to go back to the camp, but the priest touched him. "My son,--perhaps, before you return, you would look again at my unworthy portrait. I--about the matter of the canoe--" "Oh," said Menard, "you've taken it out." "Yes; it seemed best, considering the danger that others might feel the same doubts which troubled you." "I wouldn't do that. The canoe was all right, once the direction were decided on." "Above all else, the true portrait should convey to the mind of the observer the impression that a single, an unmistakable purpose underlies the work. When one considers--" "Very true, Father, very true," said Menard abruptly, looking about at the beginning of the twilight. "And now we had better get back. The supper will be ready." Menard strode away toward the camp. Father Claude watched him for a time through the trees, then turned again to the picture. Finally he got together his materials, and carrying them in a fold of his gown, with the picture in his left hand, he followed Menard.