The maid lay in her blanket on the bench. He stood over her, looking at the peaceful face that rested on her outstretched arm. He took her hand, and said gently:-- "Mademoiselle." She stirred, and slowly opened her eyes; she did not seem surprised that he should be there clasping tightly her slender hand. He wondered if he had been in her dreams. "Good-bye, Mademoiselle." "You--you are going, M'sieu?" "Yes." She looked up at him with half-dazed eyes. She was not yet fully awake. "You must not fear," he said. "They cannot hurt you. You will soon be safe at--at Frontenac." She was beginning to understand. Then all at once the light came into her eyes, and she clung to his arm, which was still wet with the dew. "You are not going? They will not take you? Oh, M'sieu, I cannot--you must not!" She would have said more, but he bent down and kissed her forehead. Then, with his free hand he unclasped her fingers and went away. At the door he turned. She was sitting on the bench, gazing after him with a look that he never forgot. For all of the unhappiness, the agony, that came to him from those eyes, it was with a lighter heart that he faced the warriors who rushed to seize him. Every brave, woman, and child that the village could supply was in the double line that stretched away from a point on the path not a hundred yards distant to the long council house, which stood on a slight rise of ground. They were armed with muskets, clubs, knives,--with any instrument which could bruise or, mutilate the soldier as he passed, and yet leave life in him for the harder trials to follow. Five warriors, muskets in hand, had come to the hut. They sprang at Menard as he stepped out through the doorway, striking him roughly and holding his elbows behind his back. A shout went up from the waiting lines, and muskets and clubs were waved in the air. The Captain stepped forward briskly with head erect, scorning to glance at the braves who walked on either side. He knew that they would not kill him in the gantlet; they would save him for the fire. He had passed through this once, he could do it again, conscious that every moment brought nearer the chance of a rescue by the Big Throat. Perhaps twenty paces had been covered, and his guardians were prodding him and trying to force him into a run, when he heard a shout from the priest, and then the sounds of a struggle at the hut. He turned his head, but a rude hand knocked it back. Again he heard the priest's voice, and this time, with it, a woman's scream.