"My cousin chose his path. Why need we interfere? Have
you--have you theories as to where he can be?"
I flicked my finger at a wandering robin. "I am as guiltless of
theories as that bird. It is passing strange. Your cousin and our
ghostly Huron seem to have gone up in vapor."
"Our ghostly Huron, monsieur?"
I planted my elbows on the grass that I might face her. "Listen,
madame. It is time you knew the story of Pemaou." And thereupon I
recited all that had happened between the Huron and myself from the day
when we had played at shuttlecock with spears till the night when he
had shadowed us at the Pottawatamie camp,--the night before our
wedding. I even told her of the profile in his pouch.
She winced at that. "Why did you not tell me before?"
"It seemed useless to alarm you."
"But you tell me now."
I smiled at her. "I know you better. It seems fitting to tell you
everything now, madame."
She looked at me with a frown of worry. "Monsieur, you are in danger
from that Huron. He hates you if you humbled him."
I laughed at her. "He would not dare harm a Frenchman, madame."
"Then why does he follow you?"
But there I could only shrug. "He was probably in Lord Starling's pay,
and was keeping track of us that he might direct your cousin to us.
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