Listlessly he watched the seamen empty the hold of its treasures;
carelessly he observed the meeting of sweethearts and lovers, wives and
husbands. Two women in masks meant nothing to him. . . Holy Virgin!
it was not possible! Was his brain fooling him? He grew faint. Did
he really see these two old men climbing down the ship's ladder to the
boats? He choked; tears blinded him. He dashed aside the tears and
looked once more. Oh! there could be no doubt; his eyes had not
deceived him. There was only one face like that in the world; only one
face like that, with its wrinkles, its haughty chin, its domineering
nose. He had seen that lean, erect figure, crowned with silver-white
hair, too many times to mistake it. It was the marquis, the grim and
terrible marquis, the ogre of his dreams. The lad had always hated the
marquis, taking his master's side; but at the sight of that familiar
face, he felt his heart swell with joy and love and veneration. For
intuition told him why Monsieur le Marquis was in Quebec. It was to
seek Monsieur le Chevalier. And together they would all go back to
France, beautiful France.
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