Danton was lying on the ground, but he was not asleep. He looked up, at the sound of Menard's footsteps, and then, recognizing him, lowered his eyes again. The Captain hesitated, standing over the prostrate figure. "Danton," he said finally, "I want you to tell me the truth." The boy made no reply, and Menard, after waiting for a moment, sat upon a log. "I have decided to do rather an unusual thing, Danton," he said slowly, "in offering to talk it over with you as a friend, and not as an officer. In one thing you must understand me: Mademoiselle St. Denis has been intrusted to my care, and until she has safely reached those who have a right to share the direction of her actions, I can allow nothing of this sort to go on. You must understand that. If you will talk with me frankly, and try to control yourself for the present, it may be that I can be of service to you later on." There was a long silence. Finally, Danton spoke, without raising his head. "Is there need of this, M'sieu? Is it not enough that she--that Mademoiselle dismisses me?" "Oh," said Menard, "that is it?" "Yes." "You are sure of yourself, Danton? sure that you have not made a mistake?" "A mistake?" The boy looked up wildly. "I was--shall I tell you, M'sieu?--I left the camp to-night with the thought that I should never go back." Menard looked at him curiously. "What did you plan to do?" "I didn't know,--I don't know now. Back to Montreal, perhaps to the Iroquois. I don't care where." "You did not bring your musket. It would hardly be safe." "Safe!" There was weary contempt in the boy's voice. He sat up, and made an effort to steady himself, leaning back upon his hands. "I should not say this. It was what I thought at first. I am past it now; I can think better. It was only your coming,--when I first saw you, it came rushing back, and I wanted to--oh, what is the use? You do not know. You cannot understand." "And now?" "Now, Captain, I ask for a release. Let me go back to Montreal." "How would you go? You have no canoe." "I will walk." Menard shook his head. "I am sorry," he said, "but it is too late. In the first place, you would never reach the city. There are scouting bands of Iroquois all along the river." "So much the better, M'sieu, so--" "Wait. That is only one reason. I cannot spare you. I have realized within the last day that I should have brought more men. The Iroquois know of our campaign; they are watching us. A small party like this is to their liking. I will tell you, Danton, we may have a close rub before we get to Frontenac. I wish I could help you, but I cannot. What reason could I give for sending you alone down the river to Montreal? You forget, boy, that we are not on our own pleasure; we are on the King's errand. For you to go now would be to take away one of our six fighting men,--to imperil Mademoiselle. And that, I think," he looked keenly at Danton, "is not what you would wish to do."