The King's Daughter by Suzanne Martel Read Free Book Online Page A

with Marie. The two of them chatted quietly in the semi-darkness, though Marie dominated the conversation, inexhaustible when it came to her lieutenant’s endless good qualities. The little grey mouse from the dormitory had been transfigured.
    â€œYou know, Jeanne, we’re going to get married and Jean is going to settle here in Quebec where his father has a business.”
    â€œAnd what will your fiancé, Monsieur Simon de Rouville, say?”
    Marie was in love. All obstacles were pushed aside. “Oh, he’ll understand and marry another of the king’s daughters. You, for example.”
    â€œThank you so much. At least leave me the privilege of choosing.”
    That old widower in search of a housekeeper wasn’t even worth mentioning.
    Footsteps neared the house. “That’s Jean!” exclaimed Marie, who had been watching for him.
    The young man stepped forward with a firm tread and bowed to the two friends. Relieved of his duties on board ship for the evening, he had gone to greet his parents in Cap Diamant. Then he had come down as soon as possible to be with his beloved. They had little time to plan and an entire happy life to prepare for.
    Jeanne discreetly moved a few steps away, leaving the young couple to speak their hearts’ desire. She felt elderly and protective. All her sisterly love went out to that trusting girl and sincere young man. She wished them happiness.
    Leaning against the side of the small house, a few steps from the street that was deserted at that hour, Jeanne listened to the silence. It amazed her after the constant noise that had assailed her ears on board ship. The scent of earth and pine mingled with that of the few tenacious flowers that bordered Madame Myrand’s little garden.
    Suddenly an apparition surged out of the night. A grimacing face, crossed by a scar and crowned by two feathers, materialized soundlessly before her, blocking her retreat. Sister Bourgeoys was right. The Indians were as bold as could be. The terrifying stories with which the sailors enjoyed regaling the girls—despite Sister Bourgeoys’s vigilance—came back to Jeanne. In a flash she thought, If I scream, Jean and Marie will come to my aid and be killed. She did not cry out, but slowly began walking, step by step, into the night. She surrendered all hope of rescue, but at least she diverted the danger from those she loved.
    Without a word, without a sound, the Indian followed her, looming up between her and the house. He put his hand out. Was he holding a knife? Jeanne dared to venture a look...and was surprised to see that it was a piece of paper. And a closer look showed that his sinister face expressed more perplexity than hatred, and that his grimace was a smile.
    Jeanne snatched the note from his outstretched hand and stepped past the Indian. Unable to utter a sound, she hurried towards the inn and brushed unceremoniously past Marie and Jean who had hardly noticed her. She collapsed into the low chair in front of the candle where Widow Myrand was dozing in her rocking chair. Accustomed to the early hours on board ship, Sister Bourgeoys’s charges were saying their prayers or already asleep in the loft.
    Jeanne, still quite pale, leaned towards the flickering light and began deciphering Marguerite Bourgeoys’s handwriting. She knew it well from having helped her make up shopping lists in Rouen. The letter was addressed to Widow Myrand. Jeanne gave it to that good woman who, rather than admit she didn’t know how to read, claimed her eyesight was bad and declared she was all ears.
    Jeanne read the words swimming there before her eyes, doing her best to conceal the trembling of her voice.
    Dear Madame:
    This letter is to inform Mademoiselle Marie du Voyer of an urgent situation. Her fiancé, Monsieur de Rouville, needs her in Ville-Marie immediately, due to the lateness of the season. A group of travellers, accompanied by two Sulpician priests and