“Ah,” said the priest; “that very doubt is allegorical. It typifies the workings of the human mind when first confronted by the truth. When the seeker first beholds the light, as shown through the devotion of such a woman as Catherine Outasoren, there arises in his mind–”
“Very true, very true! But I never yet have seen a canoe-load of Indians in doubt whether they were moving forward or backward.”
Father Claude held the canvas at arm’s length and gazed long at it.
“Tell me, M’sieu,” he said at last, “do you think it deserving of a place in the College?”
“I do not see why not.”
“And you think I would be justified in laying a request before the Superior?”
Menard shrugged his shoulders.
“That is your decision, Father.”
“I never can fully thank you, my son, for your kindness in looking on my humble work. I will not decide to-day. First I must add foliage in the foreground. And I will give it my earnest prayer.”
Menard said farewell and went out, leaving the priest gazing at the picture. He strolled back toward the citadel, stopping now and then to greet an old friend or a chance acquaintance. When he arrived at the headquarters in the citadel he found Danton, a brown-haired young lieutenant of engineers, gazing at a heap of plans and other papers on the table.
“Well, Captain Menard,” was his greeting, “I’d give half of last year’s pay, if I ever get it, to feel as lazy as you look.”
“You are lazy enough,” growled Menard.
“That begs the question. It is not how lazy a man is, but how lazy he gets a chance to be.”
“If you’d been through what I have this spring, you’d deserve a rest.”
“You must have had a stirring time,” said the Lieutenant. “Major Provost has promised to let me go out with the line when the campaign starts. I’ve not had a brush since I came over.”
Menard gave him a quizzical smile before he replied, “You’ll get brushes enough.”
“By the way, the Major wants to see you.”
“Does he?” said Menard.
He lighted his short pipe with a coal from the fire and walked out.
CHAPTER II.
THE MAID
Menard did not go at once to see Major Provost, the Commandant. He had already handed in his report at the citadel. It was probable that this was some new work for him. He had just settled his mind to the prospect of a rest, the first since that mad holiday, seven years before, when word had come that his lieutenant’s commission was on the way. That was at Three Rivers. He wanted to idle, to waste a few weeks for the sheer delight of extravagance, but his blood did not flow more quickly at the wish. He was an older man by a score of years–or was it only seven?
He lingered on the square. The black-eyed children, mostly dirty and ragged (for the maids whom the King had sent over by shiploads to his colonists had not developed into the most diligent and neat housewives) tumbled about his feet. He allowed himself to be drawn into their play. They had no awe of his uniform, for it was worn and frayed. He had not yet taken the trouble to get out his fresher coat and breeches and boots. He thought of this, and was again amused. It was another sign of age. The time had been when his first care after arriving in Quebec was to don his rich house uniform and polished scabbard, and step gaily to the Major’s house to sun himself in the welcome of the Major’s pretty wife, who had known his uncle, the Sieur de Vauban, at La Rochelle. Now he was back in Quebec from months on the frontier, he was summoned to the Major’s house, and yet he stayed and laughed at the children. For the Major’s wife was older, too, and the vivacity of her youth was thinning out and uncovering the needle-like tongue beneath. A slim little urchin was squirming between his boots, with a pursuing rabble close behind, and the Captain had to take hold of a young tree to keep his feet. He turned and started in pursuit of the children, but caught sight of two Ursuline sisters entering the square, and straightened himself. After all, a captain is a captain, even though the intoxication of spring be in him, and his heart struggling to clamber back into the land of youth. He walked on across the square and down the street to the Major’s house.
Major Provost welcomed Menard heartily, and led him to his office. “We’ll have our business first,” he said, “and get it done with.”
Menard settled back in the carved oak chair which had for generations been a member of the Major’s family. The light mood had left him. Now he was the soldier, brusque in manner, with lines about his mouth which, to certain men, gave his face a hard expression.
“First let me ask you, Menard, what are your plans?”
“For the present?”
“Yes.”
“I have none.”
“Your personal affairs, I mean. Have you any matters to hold your attention here for the next few weeks?”
“None.”
Major Provost fingered his quill.
“I don’t know, of course, how your own feelings stand, Menard. You’ve been worked hard for three years, and I suppose you want rest. But somebody must go to Fort Frontenac, and the Governor thinks you are the man.”
Menard made a gesture of impatience.
“There are a dozen men here with little to do.”
“I know it. But this matter is of some importance, and it may call for delicate work before you are through with it. It isn’t much in itself,–merely to bear orders to d’Orvilliers,–but the Governor thinks that the right man may be able to do strong work before the campaign opens. You probably know that we are to move against the Senecas alone, and that we must treat with the other nations to keep them from aiding the Senecas. No one can say just how this can be done. Even Father de Lamberville has come back, you know, from the Mohawks; but the Governor thinks that if we send a good man, he may be able to see a way, once he gets on the ground, and can advise with d’Orvilliers. Now, you are a good man, Menard; and you can influence the Indians if anyone can.”
“You are a little vague, Major.”
“You will go to Frontenac in advance of the army to prepare the way. La Durantaye and Du Luth are already at Detroit, awaiting orders, with close to two hundred Frenchmen and four hundred Indians. And Tonty should have joined them before now with several hundred Illinois.”
“I don’t believe he’ll bring many Illinois. They must have known of the Iroquois war party that started toward their villages. They will stay to defend their own country. They may not know that the Iroquois party was recalled.”
“Recalled?” said the Major.
“Yes. Father de Casson has the news from Father de Lamberville. You see what that means. The Iroquois have been warned.”
“I was afraid of it. These new governors, Menard–each has to learn his lesson from the beginning of the book. Why will they not take counsel from the men who know the Indians? This campaign has been heralded as broadly as a trading fair.”
“When should I start?” asked Menard, abruptly.
“At once–within a few days.” Major Provost looked at the other’s set face. “I am sorry about this, Menard. But you understand, I am sure. Perhaps I had better give you an idea of our plans. You know, of course, that we have three ships fitting out at Frontenac. Already our force is being got together at St. Helen’s Island, by Montreal. Champigny is engaging canoemen and working out a transport and supply system between Montreal and Frontenac. The force will proceed to Frontenac, and embark from there in the ships, bateaux, and canoes.”
“Is the rendezvous at Niagara?”
“No,