"Father, we shall yet be free. Who could fail with such a lieutenant as that maid. How she laughs. One would think she had never a care." At last she came back, and sank, with a nervous, irresponsible little laugh, on the bench. And then, for the moment, they all three laughed together. In the silence that followed, Father Claude moved toward the door. "I must go out again, M'sieu. It may be that there is further word." "Very well, Father. And open your ears for news of the poor boy." The priest bowed, and went out. Menard stood in the door watching him, as he walked boldly along the path. After a little he turned. The maid was looking at him, still flushed and smiling. "Well, Mademoiselle, we can take hope again." "You are so brave, M'sieu." He smiled at her impulsiveness, and looked at her, hardly conscious that he was causing her to blush and lower her eyes. "And so I am brave, Mademoiselle? It may be that Major Provost and Major d'Orvilliers will not feel so." "But they must, M'sieu." "Do you know what they will say? They will speak with sorrow of Captain Menard, the trusted, in whose hands Governor Denonville placed the most important commission ever given to a captain in New France. They will regret that their old friend was not equal to the test; that he--ah, do not interrupt, Mademoiselle; it is true--that his failure lost a campaign for New France. You heard Father Claude; you know what these Indians plan to do." "You must not speak so, M'sieu. It is wicked. He would be a coward who could blame you. It was not your fault that you were captured. When I return I shall go to them and tell them how you fought, and how you faced them like--like a hero. When I return--" She stopped, as if the word were strange. "Aye, Mademoiselle, and God grant that you may return soon. But your good heart leads you wrong. It was my fault that I did not bring a force strong enough to protect myself,--and you. To fight is not a soldier's first duty. It is to be discreet; he must know when not to fight as well as when to draw his sword; he must know how many men are needed to defend his cause. No; I was overconfident, and I lost. And there we must leave it. Nothing more can be said." He stood moodily over the heap of ashes. When he looked at her again, she had risen. "The flowers, M'sieu," she said, "you--you threw them away." He glanced down. They lay at his feet. Silently he knelt and gathered them. "Will you help me, Mademoiselle? We will make another cup. And these two large daisies,--did you see how they rested side by side on the ground when I would have trampled on them? You will take one and I the other; and when this day shall be far in the past, it may be that you will remember it, and how we two were here together, waiting for the stroke that should change life for us." He held it out, and she, with lowered eyes, reached to take it from his hand, but suddenly checked the motion and turned to the door.