He should see me at a certain point on the
ramparts, and, well armed, we also would make our way to Sillery,
and from the spot called the Anse du Foulon drift down the river
in the dead of night.
He promised to do all as I wished.
The rest of the day I spent in my room fashioning strange toys
out of willow rods. I had got these rods from my guards, to make
whistles for their children, and they had carried away many of
them. But now, with pieces of a silk handkerchief tied to the
whistle and filled with air, I made a toy which, when squeezed,
sent out a weird lament. Once when my guard came in, I pressed one
of these things in my pocket, and it gave forth a sort of smothered
cry, like a sick child. At this he started, and looked round the
room in trepidation; for, of all peoples, these Canadian Frenchmen
are the most superstitious, and may be worked on without limit.
The cry had seemed to come from a distance. I looked around, also,
and appeared serious, and he asked me if I had heard the thing
before.
"Once or twice," said I.
"Then you are a dead man," said he; "'tis a warning, that!"
"Maybe it is not I, but one of you," I answered. Then, with a
sort of hush, "Is't like the cry of La Jongleuse?" I added.
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