"I put myself in her way. When she saw me her cheek came like a peach-
blossom. 'A very good morning, ma'm'selle,' said I, in English. She
smiled and said the same. 'And your master, where is he?' she asked
with a fine smile. 'My friend Monsieur Iberville?' I said; 'ah! he will
be in Quebec soon.' Then I told her of the abbe, and she took from a
chain a little medallion and gave it me in memory of the time we saved.
her. And before I could say Thank you, she had gone--Well, that is all
--except this."

He drew from his breast a chain of silver, from which hung the gold
medallion, and shook his head at it with good-humour. But presently a
hard look came on his face, and he was changed from the cheerful woodsman
into the chief of bushrangers. Iberville read the look, and presently
said:

"Perrot, men have fought for less than gold from a woman's chain and a
buckle from her shoe."

"I have fought from Trois Pistoles to Michilimackinac for the toss of a
louis-d'or."

"As you say. Well, what think you--"

He paused, rose, walked up and down the room, caught his moustache
between his teeth once or twice, and seemed buried in thought. Once or
twice he was about to speak, but changed his mind. He was calculating
many things: planning, counting chances, marshalling his resources.
Presently he glanced round the room. His eyes fell on a map. That
was it. It was a mere outline, but enough. Putting his finger on it,