"I understand you now, my brave nephew and lieutenant," said La Tour,
smiling; "you would play the lover on this moonlight night, and serenade
the lady of your heart, to apprise her of your safe return."

"There was not quite so much romance in my plot," replied De Valette;
"but if you permit me to execute it, I pledge myself to return before
midnight; and though you are not a lover, I am sure you are far from
being indifferent to the intelligence which I may bring you."

"Go, if you will, if you _can_ in safety," said La Tour; "though, could
your impatience brook the delay of a few short hours, it would be
well--well for yourself, perhaps; for if I remember right, you could ill
bear a look of coldness, and Luciè is not always lavish of her smiles."

"I fear it not," said De Valette; "she would not greet me coldly after
so long an absence; and though you smile at my folly, I am not ashamed
to confess my eagerness to see her."

"She already knows her power over you but too well," said La Tour; "shew
her that you are indifferent--disdainful, if you like--and trust me, she
will learn to prize the love, which she now pretends to slight."

"The heart of woman must be wayward indeed," said De Valette, "if such
is its nature or artifice; but my hopes are not so desperate yet, and if
my memory serves me truly, I have more smiles than frowns on record."

With these words, De Valette threw himself into a small boat, and in a
few moments reached the shore. He entered the hut of a half-civilized
Indian, and to avoid being recognized by any of D'Aulney's people whom
he might chance to encounter, borrowed his savage attire, and in that