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"I wonder why you wish to keep the prisoner with you longer," he marveled. And then I laughed. I looked him full in the face and laughed again. "But I have no prisoner. Unless, indeed, matrimony be a sort of bondage. I travel with my wife, with Madame de Montlivet, née Starling, monsieur." I knew that I had cut him in a vital part, but he held himself well.
"You leave the decision with her?" "Absolutely, monsieur." Cadillac rapped his knuckles together. "Don't run romanticism into the ground, Montlivet." But my inflammable temper did not rise. "A woman certainly has some right of selection. Starling says that I forced her to marry me. That is substantially true. What time do you plan to have Starling leave?" "As early as possible.
"I understand that, Father Nouvel." The wedding feast followed. Madame de Montlivet, the priest, Onanguissé, and I sat in a semicircle on the ground, and slaves served us with wooden trenchers of food.
Can you marry us this evening, Father Nouvel?" He looked at me keenly, not altogether pleased. "And you are" he asked. "Armand de Montlivet, from Montreal." He relaxed somewhat. "I have heard of you. No, I cannot marry you to-night. I will find a lodge for this demoiselle, and we will talk of this to-morrow.
"I shall be here." "But where are you going now?" "To the woods." Cadillac took me by the arm. "Montlivet, be sane!" But I think that as he looked at me he saw that I was sane. "I shall be with you in the morning," I promised. And I would have no further words. All that night in the woods, both waking and dreaming, the thought of the woman was like a presence near me.
For Cadillac had told me that Madame de Montlivet had asked if she might come in for a moment and listen to the council, and he had referred the matter to me. It had seemed a strange request, but I could see no reason for refusing it. The woman had seen Indians in camp and field; it was perhaps no wonder that she wished to see the machinery of their politics.
He is a simple-hearted, suffering man who has found his cousin and whose mission is over. He is grateful for our hospitality, he is grateful to you, he is grateful to everybody. How much shall we believe?" "Not more than is necessary." "Montlivet, be frank. What do you make of the man?" I looked down. "He is a compelling man. He has a hero's frame." "I am not blind. I asked what the frame housed."
We held short council: Pierre the peasant, Singing Arrow the squaw, and I, the Seignior de Montlivet. We mingled suggestions and advice, and struck a balance. The sunset flamed in the woods behind us, and I knew that the moon rose early. I could have used a knife upon Pierre for the time it took me to convince him that our canoes could carry one man more.
Working through the rice swamp, I had come into the main river too far to the west, but following the woman's voice I had floated back. I was caught in one of the nets that the Malhominis strung with small bells, and stretched across the stream to keep both fish and enemies in bounds. I set my teeth hard. "It is Montlivet. It is Montlivet," I called.
I drew it up, with the fish caught through the gills. The Indian was pleased. He grunted and exclaimed in his own speech, though he thought I could not understand. "They say the Frenchman, Montlivet, can do that." Then he looked at me and light dawned. "You are Montlivet!" I wasted no time.
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