“Hear me,” said Dollard, grasping him on each side of the collar. “She is the last of the Des Ormeaux to you. Serve her faithfully as you serve the queen of heaven. If she wants to go back to France, go with her. Before this I bequeathed you St. Bernard. Now I am leaving you a priceless charge. Your wife shall obey and follow her to the ends of the earth. To-day I altered my will in Montreal and gave her my last coin, gave her my seigniory, I gave her _you_! Do you refuse to obey my last commands? Do you disallow my rights in you?” Jacques’s puckered face unflinchingly turned upward and met the stare of his master. “M’sieur, I will follow my lady’s whims and do your commands to the hour of my death.” Dollard, like a mastiff, shook him. “Is there any treachery in you, Jacques Goffinet, free follower of the house of Des Ormeaux? If there is, out with it now, or my dead eyes will pry through you hereafter.” “M’sieur,” answered Jacques, lifting his hand and making the sign of the cross, “I am true man to my core. I do love to pile good stuff together and call land mine, but thou knowest I love a bit of cloth from one of thy old garments better than all the seigniories in New France.” Dollard let go Jacques’s collar and extended his arms around the stumpy man’s neck. “My good old Jacques! My good old Jacques!” “How proud I have always been of thee!” choked Jacques. “I have told her to depend on you, Jacques. The will I brought home in my breast and placed among her caskets. She will provide for Louise and you, and she will provide for poor Renée, also. Kick the Indians and wake them up. There is not another moment to spare.” The Indians were roused, and stood up taciturn and ready for action, drawing their blankets around themselves. These Hurons, vagrants from Annahotaha’s tribe, were hangers-on about the fortress at Montreal. Jacques gave them each a careful dram, and lighted at the fire a dipped candle. With this feeble light he penetrated the darkness of the cellar floor, leading the party down its tortuous staircase. Dollard, who had stood with his hand on the door-latch, was the last to leave the upper room. His questions followed Jacques around the turns of the stairs. “You are well provisioned, Jacques?” “Yes, m’sieur.” “At daybreak you will remember to have Papillon help you bring in an abundant supply of water?” “Yes, m’sieur.” “Bar the doors when you see any one approaching and keep watch on all sides every day.” “Yes, m’sieur.” Jacques jammed his candle-end into a crack of the rock floor, undid the fastenings, and with a jerk let the moonlight in on their semi-darkness. They went out to the palisade gate, the Indians dragged the boat carefully to its launching, and Jacques stored in it Dollard’s provisions. “Good-bye, my man,” said Dollard. “M’sieur,” said Jacques, “I have always obeyed you. There is but one thing in my heart against you, and I will cleanse myself of that now.”