Though he went about somberly, untalkative and morose, the Chevalier
proved himself a capital soldier, readily adapting himself to the
privations of scouting and the loneliness of long watches in the night.
He studied his Indian as one who intended to take up his abode among
them for many years to come. He discarded the uniform for the deerskin
of the trapper. But the Chevalier made no friends among the
inhabitants; and when not on duty he was seen only in the company of
Victor, the vicomte and Brother Jacques, who was assisting him in
learning the Indian languages. Brown he grew, lithe and active as the
enemy he watched and studied. Never a complaint fell from his lips; he
accepted without question the most hazardous duty.
"Keep your eye upon Monsieur le Chevalier," said De Lauson; "for he
will count largely before the year is gone."
As for Victor, he was more or less indifferent. He was perfectly
willing to fight the Indian, but his gorge rose at the thought of
studying him as an individual. As a rule he found them to be unclean,
vulgar and evil-minded; and the hideous paints disturbed his dreams.
Secretly, his enthusiasm for New France had already waned, and there
were times when he longed for the road to Spain--Spain which by now
held for him the dearest treasure in all the world. But not even the
keen-eyed Brother Jacques read this beneath the poet's buoyancy and
lightness of spirit. Besides, Brother Jacques had set himself to watch
the Comte d'Hérouville and the Vicomte d'Halluys, and this was far more
important to him than the condition of the poet's temperament.
D'Hérouville mingled with the great seigneurs, and, backed by his
reputation as a famous swordsman, did about as he pleased. He watched
the Chevalier's progress toward health; and he noted with some concern
his enemy's quick, springy step, the clear and steady eye. He still
ignored the poet as completely as though he did not exist.
Every Friday night the table was given up to the governor's gentlemen
councillors, friends, and officers. Victor and the Chevalier were on
this list, as were the vicomte and D'Hérouville. Usually these were
enjoyable evenings. Victor became famous as a raconteur, and the
Chevalier lost some of his taciturnity in this friendly intercourse.
D'Hérouville's conduct was irreproachable in every sense.
One day the Chevalier entered one of the school-rooms. In his arms he
held a small white child which had sprained its weak ankle while
playing on the lumber pile outside the convent of the Ursulines.
Sister Benie was quick to note how tenderly he held the sobbing child.
"Give him to me, Monsieur," she said, her velvet eyes moist with pity.
The Chevalier placed the little boy in her arms, and he experienced a
strange thrill as he noticed the manner in which she wrapt the boy to
her heart. How often Breton's mother, his nurse, had taken him to her
breast that way! And he stood there marveling over that beautiful
mystery which God had created, for the wonder of man, the woman and the
child.