“I can understand, Gabrielle.  You ought not to have joined me.  By now you would have been in Navarre or in Spain.”

“And lonely, lonely, lonely!” with a burst of tenderness, throwing her arms round Anne again and kissing her.  “I must go; I shall weep if I remain.”

Half an hour later an orderly announced to his Excellency the governor that a lady desired to see him.

“Admit her at once,” said De Lauson.  “Mademoiselle,” when madame stood before him, “am I to have the happiness of being of service to you?  Or, is it ‘madame’ instead of ’mademoiselle’?”

“I have promised to disclose my identity in time, your Excellency.  However, I shall not object to ‘madame.’  Monsieur, I am about to ask you a question which I shall request not to be repeated.”

The governor, looking at her with open admiration, recalled the days when, as a student, he had conjured up in his own mind the faces of the goddesses.  This face represented neither Venus nor Pallas; rather the lithe-limbed huntress who forswore marriage for the chase.

“And this question?” he inquired.

“What brought Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes, as he calls himself, to Quebec?”

The governor’s face became shaded with gravity, “I may not tell you that.  I did not know that you knew Monsieur le Comte.  He will, without doubt, return to France with Monsieur le Marquis, his father.  Nay, I shall tell you this:  the Chevalier expected never to return to France.”

“Never to return to France?” vaguely.

“Yes, Madame; so I understood, him to say.”  The governor’s curiosity was manifest.

“Conspiring did not bring him here?”

“No, Madame.”

“Monsieur, one more question, and then I will go.  Is there a Mademoiselle Catharine Coquenard upon your books?”

“Peasant or noble?”

“Peasant, Monsieur, of a positive type,” with enough scorn to attract the governor’s ear.

He consulted his books, wondering what it was all about.  “No such name, Madame,” he said, finally, “I regret to say.”

“Thank you, Monsieur; that is all.”

For the rest of the day his Excellency the governor went about with a preoccupied expression on his face.

The sun sank; the green of the forests deepened; a violet mist rose from the banks; the channel of the river became a perfect mirror, which softened the gorgeous colors which the heavens flung upon its surface.  Madame wandered aimlessly around within the outer parapet of the citadel.  Far out upon the river she saw the black hull of the Henri IV, the rigging weaving a delicate spider-web against the faded horizon of the south.  A breeze touched madame’s cheek, as soft a kiss as that which a mother gives to her sleeping child.  For a space her hair burned like ore in a furnace and her eyes sparkled with golden flashes; then the day smoldered and died, leaving the world enveloped in a silvery pallor.  To the thought which wanders visual beauty is without significance, and madame’s thought was traversing paths which were many miles beyond the sea.