She withdrew from me.  “Monsieur Cadillac is waiting for you.  You wield great power.”

Something new had come to her tone.  I would have none of it.  “Mary, may I talk to you?”

But still she drew away.  “Monsieur, I am confused, and you are needed elsewhere.  Not to-night, I beg you, not to-night.”

I could not protest.  In truth, I knew that Cadillac needed me.  I went with her to the door.

“To-morrow, then?” I begged.  “Will you listen to-morrow, madame?”

But she had grown very white.  “You are important here.  There is work for you.  Be careful of your safety.  Please be careful.”

I took her hand.  “Thank you, madame.”

There was much in my tone that I kept out of my words, but she was not conscious of it.  She was not thinking of herself, and her eyes, that were on mine, were full of trouble.  All the restraint that the last weeks had taught her had come back to her look.

“You wield great power,” she repeated.  “You are to be the leader of the west.  I see that.  But oh, be careful!  Good-night, monsieur.”

CHAPTER XXV

OVER CADILLAC’S TABLE

I found Cadillac writing, writing.  Letters were his safety valve.  I had only to look at his table to see how much he was perturbed.

And when I sat across from him, with the candles between, I saw that he was also perplexed.  That was unusual, for commonly he was off-hand in his judgments, and leaped to conclusions like a pouncing cat.  He looked at me through the candle-gloom and shook his head.

“Montlivet, you have lost twenty pounds since I saw you, and aged.  Out on you, man!  It is not worth it.  We live ten years in one in this wilderness.  We throw away our youth.  Then we go back to France and find ourselves old men, worn out, uncouth, out at elbows, at odds with our generation.  It is not worth it.  It is not worth it, I say.”

I was impatient.  “What has happened since the Senecas came?”

He made a tired grimace.  “Principally that I have not slept,” he yawned.

“You have seen no signs of an uprising?”

He put his head between his hands, and I saw that he was indeed weary.  “There are never signs till the uprising is on us.  You know that.  I have done what I could.  The guards are trebled, and we sleep on our swords.  Montlivet, tell me.  What have you been doing in the west?”

I had expected him to finesse to this question.  I liked it that he gave it to me with a naked blade.

“I have been forming an Indian league,” I answered bluntly.

He nodded.  “I know.  There have been rumors.  Then I knew what you did with the St. Lawrence tribes last year.  Why did you not tell me when you went through here last spring?”

I shook my head.  “I wished to prove myself.  It was an experiment.  Then I desired a free hand.”