"Now, what may he want?" asked Anne, in a whisper.
"You are going for a row upon the river?" asked Brother Jacques,
respectfully.
"Yes, Brother Jacques," replied Anne. "Is not the water beautiful and
inviting?"
"I would not venture far," he said. "Iroquois have been reported in
the vicinity of Orléans."
"We intend to row as far as Sillery and back. There can be no danger
in that."
Brother Jacques looked doubtful.
"And are not the Iroquois our friends?" asked madame. "Are not
Frenchmen building a city in the heart of their kingdom?"
Brother Jacques smiled sadly. "Madame, I should not be surprised to
learn on the morrow that the expedition to Onondaga had already been
exterminated."
"You, of all persons, should be loyal to the Indian," replied Anne,
arranging the mats in the bottom of the boat.
"Mademoiselle, I know him thoroughly. That is why I undertake to warn
you. The rattlesnake which you dread is less terrible to me than the
Iroquois. My duty, not my inclination, makes me walk among them."
"We promise not to go beyond sight of the warehouses."
"Come with us," said Anne. "We will read to you and you will in turn
tell us the legend of Hiawatha, so long delayed."
"If madame is agreeable," replied the priest, his heart beating a
trifle faster than normal: he was human, and these two women were
beautiful.
"Come with us, by all means," said madame graciously.
"You will sit in the stern, Gabrielle," said the admiral's
granddaughter; "I shall sit on the mat, as the Indian says, and Brother
Jacques shall take the oars. And take care that we do not run away
with you."
"I am not afraid," returned Brother Jacques, a secret happiness
possessing him. "Besides, I can swim." He recognized the danger of
beauty in close proximity, but he unwisely forgot the dangers of time
and place. How much rarer the world becomes to the man who has seen
flower gardens and beautiful women moving to and fro among them! Ah,
that ragged, rugged highway which he had traversed: dry crusts of life,
buffets, bramble, curses and mockery. And here was realized one of his
idle dreams. He took a dozen long strokes, which sent the craft up
stream in the direction of Sillery, and let the oars drift. "You were
to read a book?" he asked.
"It would burn your godly ears," said madame: "Malherbe."
"I have read him," quietly.
"What? Oh, fie, Monsieur le Jesuit!" And madame laughed at his
confusion.
"When I was eighteen. That was before I took the orders." He picked
up the oars again and pulled strongly and noiselessly. His thought was
far away just then: when he was eighteen.
Anne, with her shoulders resting against madame's knees, opened the
book which Victor had given her on a Sunday the year before. Sometimes
Brother Jacques's stroke beat rhythmically with the measures; sometimes
the oars trailed through the water with a low, sweet murmur. He could
see nothing but those two fair faces.