The journey was perilous, and more than once it seemed as if they could not reach Quebec alive, but no member of the party was more cheerful than Jessica. Her bravery and spirit never faltered before the others, though sometimes at night, when lying awake, she had a wild wish to cry out or to end her troubles in the fast-flowing Richelieu. But this was only at night. In the daytime action eased the strain, and at last she was rewarded by seeing from the point of Levis, the citadel of Quebec. They were questioned and kept in check for a time, but at length Aaron and herself were let cross the river. It was her first sight of Quebec, and its massive, impregnable form struck a chill to her heart: it suggested great sternness behind it. They were passed on unmolested towards the Chateau St. Louis. The anxious wife wished to see Count Frontenac himself and then to find Iberville. Enemy of her country though he was, she would appeal to him. As she climbed the steep steps of Mountain Street, worn with hard travel, she turned faint. But the eyes of curious folk were on her, and she drew herself up bravely. She was admitted almost at once to the governor. He was at dinner when she came. When her message was brought to him, his brows twitched with surprise and perplexity. He called Maurice Joval, and ordered that she be shown to his study and tendered every courtesy. A few moments later he entered the room. Wonder and admiration crossed his face. He had not thought to see so beautiful a woman. Himself an old courtier, he knew women, and he could understand how Iberville had been fascinated. She had arranged her toilette at Levis, and there were few traces of the long, hard journey, save that her hands and face were tanned. The eloquence of her eyes, the sorrowful, distant smile which now was natural to her, worked upon the old soldier before she spoke a word. And after she had spoken, had pleaded her husband’s cause, and appealed to the nobleman’s chivalry, Frontenac was moved. But his face was troubled. He drew out his watch and studied it. Presently he went to the door and called Maurice Joval. There was whispering, and then the young man went away. “Madame, you have spoken of Monsieur Iberville,” said the governor. “Years ago he spoke to me of you.” Her eyes dropped, and then they raised steadily, clearly. “I am sure, sir,” she said, “that Monsieur Iberville would tell you that my husband could never be dishonourable. They have been enemies, but noble enemies.” “Yet, Monsieur Iberville might be prejudiced,” rejoined the governor. “A brother’s life has weight.” “A brother’s life!” she broke in fearfully. “Madame, your husband killed Iberville’s brother.” She swayed. The governor’s arm was as quick to her waist as a gallant’s of twenty-five: not his to resist the despair of so noble a creature. He was sorry for her; but he knew that if all had gone as had been planned by Iberville, within a half-hour this woman would be a widow.