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Updated: April 30, 2025
I knew them both so well, Monsieur," and she rested her bowed head upon one hand, staring out into the night, and speaking almost as if to herself alone; "yet I never dreamed that he was a nobleman of France, or that he had married Marie Faneuf. She was so sweet a girl then, and now to be buried alive in that wilderness! Think you that he truly loved her?"
"You deceive me, Monsieur; yet I know, and will speak with her," was the quick decision. "Mother of God! 'tis a voice too dear ever to be forgotten." She was beside them with a step, seeming no doubt a most fair vision to be born so instantly of the night-shadows. "Marie Faneuf!" she exclaimed, eagerly.
Will you not speak a word of mercy now?" Dim as the light was, I saw her eyes were moist as she gazed down upon him; but there was no faltering in her voice. "You were right, Monsieur le Marquis," she said slowly, "Marie Faneuf is dead. It is only Sister Celeste who has aided in the preservation of your life in the name of the Master.
"You mean the sister who interposed to save you?" I asked. "She was as truly alive as either of us. Think you she is not a stranger?" He groaned, as if the confession was wrung from him by the terror of eternal torment. "Mon Dieu! She is my wife!" "Your wife?" "Ay, my wife, Marie Faneuf, of Montreal." "But how comes she here, Monsieur, living in the Pottawattomie camp?
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