The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1914-05-29

of her true thought Of me.
you continue to act your part well"
she said scornfully, even when there
is no longer a necessity. Bah!
despise this play acting! 1t is unwor-
| thy a soldier. So you would have me
tell over what you already know; you
would make me stand here and suf-
| fer"
"Mademoiselle," interrupted swift
ly, 81 ask nothing. All l seek is the
opportunity of service. There Is no
truth l am going to deny. To prove
it will say this-you have remained
in my memory since the first hour we
met. 1 desire your trust, your friend
ship; whatever you may tell me Will
| be held sacred inviolate. l will serve
you though you speak no word, give
no explanation. l beg the privilege"
l thought she would never speak,
| standing there before me In the dim
light, swaying slightly, her bosom risS
ing and falling with quick breathing. A
great sympathy welled up in my heart,
and all unconsciously, l extended my
hands. She must have seen them, but
she made no response, but the glitter
of unshed tears was in her eyes.
What is the use of our talking like
this?" she said impetuously. CT is as
though we exchanged compliments in
Montreal. Instead we are in the will
derness, with danger all about us. You
are what you are, monsieur, and l am
woman of the Wyandots. Let all
else pass; care nothing whether your
thoughts Of me be good or evil. l am
what am; what birth and conditions
have made me. All appeal to in you
is whatever of manhood you may still
retain. l tell you my story, because
you swear you know it not; then lis
ten, and you shall. No, do not move,
| but hear me; would not do this with
out reason"
She glanced aside at Schultz, and
then into the red embers of the fire,
her eyes coming slowly back to rest
on my face.
81 am Rene D'Auvray, and my father
lies dead there in the next room. He
was all had in the world, yet l knew
little enough of him. He spoke seldom
Of his past life even to me. Still,
have much reason to believe that in
his younger days he was intimate at
the French court. l know he was
soldier, an officer of the kings guard,
decorated for bravery. He never told
me why he was exiled to this land,
buried in the far wilderness, made a
companion of savages. | never asked,
although my heart ached to do so, for
he was not man to be questioned
lightly, and 1 early learned that the
very thought brought him pain. But
know this, for l saw letter once,
yellow, creased letter, which l think
he purposely mislaid hoping l would
see. He wanted me to know, yet had
not the heart to tell me. 1t was from
French comrade in arms, and there
was crest on the paper, and a great
name signed. l wept as / read, for
the writer loved the man to whom he
| told the story, and the words came
warm from his heart. Whatever else
you may know of us, Monsieur Jo-
seph Hayward, you have never known
this. 1t was because of lady my IA
Their loved, relative of the king. For
her sake he fought the Prince de Mil
lier and killed him in the royal gar
den. 1t was fair fight, but the king
saw 1t not so, for it disarranged his
plans, and my father had to flee
France to save his own life. Then was
he prescribed, price set upon his
head"
She paused, and sank into a chair,
bowling her face upon the table. /
stood silent, unable to speak, the
sound of her voice still in my ears.
She looked up again, dashing her hand
across her eyes.
Il must be far more French than
Indian to become so weak" she ex-
planned, ashamed of the emotion "'T
is the memory of him lying yonder,
monsieur, with no word-no last word
for me. So it was he came to Amer
lea, but they would not let him rest
in either Quebec or Montreal. They
drove him forth into the woods, into
the camps OF Indians. He told me
once about those days; Of how he
traversed the black waters of the Otta-
wa and met hardships on the great
lakes, his companions voyageurs and
couriers des bois, his only means of
support the furs he could send back
to Montreal. But he might not ven
ture there himself, but was doomed
forever to a life beyond civilization.
His associations would have brutalized
him. made him fit denizen of those
wilds, turned him also into a savage,
but for one thing-he was a feryent
Catholic. 1t was this which kept him
ever gentle, sweet and strong. He
possessed the passion to save souls;
he became an evangel to the Indians
among whom he lived. He was at
Mackinac and Green Bay; he told the
POtta Wqft0noiaHu re Hhr;1& L,.s 49,