"They are, M'sieu. They are all about the Indians this morning. Tell me, M'sieu,--they called you Onontio. What does it mean?" "They called me the son of Onontio, because of my uniform. Onontio, the Great Mountain, is their name for the Governor; and the Governor's soldiers are to them his sons." "They speak a strange language. It is not the same as that of the Ottawas, who once worked for my father." "Did you know their tongue?" "A few words, and some of the signs. This,"--raising her hand, with the first finger extended, and slowly moving her arm in a half circle from horizon to horizon,--"this meant a sun,--one day." Menard looked at her for a moment in silence. He enjoyed her enthusiasm. "Why don't you learn Iroquois? You would enjoy it. It is a beautiful tongue,--the language of metaphor and poetry." "I should like to," she replied, looking with a faint smile at Danton and the priest, who were sitting under a beech tree, mumbling in low tones. "You shall join the class, Mademoiselle. You shall begin to-morrow. It was thoughtless of Danton to take the Father's instruction to himself alone." "And then, M'sieu, I will know what the Indians say when they sit up stiffly in their blankets, and talk down in their throats. They have such dignity. It is hard not to believe them when they look straight at one." "Don't you believe them?" "The three this morning,--they did not tell the truth." "Didn't they?" "Why, I understood that you did not believe them." "And where did Mademoiselle learn that? Did she follow the conversation?" "No; but Lieutenant Danton--" "He told you?" She nodded. Menard frowned. "He shouldn't have done that." The maid looked surprised at his remark, and the smile left her face. "Of course, M'sieu," she said, a little stiffly, "whatever is not meant for my ears--" Menard was still frowning, and he failed to notice her change in manner. He abruptly gave the conversation a new turn, but seeing after a short time that the maid had lost interest in his sallies, he rose, and called to the priest. "Father, you are to have a new pupil. Mademoiselle also will study the language of the Iroquois. If you are quick enough with your pupils, we shall soon be able to hold a conversation each night about the fire. Perhaps, if you would forego your exclusive air, Mademoiselle would begin at once." Danton, without waiting for the priest to start, came hurriedly over and sat by the maid. "You must pardon me," he said, "I did not think,--I did not know that you would be interested. It is so dry." The maid smiled at the fire. "You did not ask," she replied, "and I could not offer myself to the class." "It will be splendid," said Danton. "We shall learn the language of the trees and the grass and the rivers and the birds. And the message of the wampum belt, too, we shall know. You see,"--looking up at Menard,--"already I am catching the meanings."