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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Follow the ripple, Monsieur," said Pauquet; "that is the way Monsieur le Chevalier has gone." It was all very foolhardy, this expedition of untried men against Indian cunning; but it was also very gallant: the woman they loved was in peril.
They had been ambushed scarce four hours from Quebec by a baud of marauding Oneidas. Only Jean Pauquet had escaped. They had been captives now for several weeks. Rage had begun to die out, fury to subside; apathy seized them in its listless embrace. Heavy, unkempt beards adorned their faces, and their hair lay tangled and matted upon their shoulders.
"Not to-night. Now, Pauquet." "One of us dies, then!" D'Hérouville's sword was out. "Are you mad?" exclaimed the vicomte, recoiling. "Perhaps. Quick!" The sword took an ominous angle, and the point touched the vicomte. "Get in!" said the vicomte, controlling his wild rage. "I will kill you the first opportunity. To-night there is not time."
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