Three weary weeks dragged themselves along. Cartier was all impatience for definite information about the King's attitude towards the Canadian expedition, while Charles and Claude were both eager, for reasons of their own, for the return of De Roberval's niece and his ward, whom he had taken to Fontainebleau with him. The three weeks lengthened into a fourth, the fourth into a fifth, and the adventurers were beginning to despair, when the faithful Jean appeared at the inn where Charles and his friend were lodged, bearing a note from his master.

De Roberval had returned, and success had crowned his efforts. The King had given him full power to make preparations—but they must come to him at once to receive instructions, and hear from his own lips the generosity of their noble monarch.

Eagerly the two young men hurried to tell Cartier the good news; and the three proceeded to Roberval's house, where they found him in high spirits. He had received more than he had asked. Anne de Montmorency had been with the King, and a friendship which had been begun at "The Field of the Cloth of Gold" had made him an ardent supporter of the little nobleman from Picardy.

The King was won to the glorious cause of extending French territory, and of winning souls. He bade Roberval return to St Malo, hurry on his preparations, collect his crews, and await his official commission, which would follow him as soon as the necessary legal proceedings could be gone through. In the meantime a letter signed by the King's own hand gave him all the power he needed.

"You are about to settle a new world for France," he had said to Roberval; "our right of colonisation is firmly established there, and the sword and the cross will make us strong. To keep you bold in arms, and firm in the faith, I present you with this sword which the saintly Bayard laid upon my shoulders with the words: 'He who has been crowned, consecrated, and anointed with oil sent down from Heaven, he who is the eldest son of the Church, is knight over all other knights'—and with this golden cross, which encases a fragment of the true cross—these dints on it are from Spanish blows; thrice did it save my life on the field of Pavia of unhappy memories—with this talisman you may hope to succeed in the great land of Norembega."

The three enthusiastic listeners congratulated him on his success, but without heeding them he went on: "That is not all. Hear the substance of this letter, signed with his royal hand. A fleet is to be fitted out at once; the governors of all the provinces are to aid in securing arms; and I"—the little nobleman seemed to grow several inches as he uttered the words—"I am created Lord of Norembega, Viceroy and Lieutenant-General in Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle Isle, Carpunt, Labrador, the Great Bay, and Baccalaos."

As he rolled off this imposing list of titles La Pommeraye's sense of humour got the better of him. The rugged, uninviting land which he knew so well rose vividly before him; and the high-sounding terms which were heaped upon it in no way lessened its ruggedness. He turned to Roberval, and with a merry twinkle in his blue eye exclaimed: "King Francis is truly generous, most noble Sieur de Nor—you must pardon a soldier's tongue and memory; I shall have to shorten your titles—Sieur of the Universe; but there are difficulties in the way. I have sounded the fishermen and sailors of St Malo, and none seem willing to cross the stormy Atlantic as settlers. If we could lure them across for fish, or furs, or gold, it would be well; but all dread the fierce cold and the scurvy to which so many of their companions have already succumbed."

"It matters not," said Roberval; "I have full power to raise men, and the sturdy beggars—and, if all other resources fail, the denizens of our prisons—shall be forced on board my vessels."

"Sieur, that will be a dangerous experiment," interrupted Cartier. "I had three criminals with me on my last voyage, and they poisoned the minds of nearly every other man on the ship."

"You forget," said Roberval, "that I am commander in this expedition. An iron hand falls upon the man who disobeys my slightest wish. Criminals are but men; and they will find that no ordinary turnkey watches over them. But why borrow troubles? Let us to work and build our ships, get the stores on board, and man them, and the other difficulties can then be faced. We have three ships now, Master Cartier. Set your carpenters to work on two others at once, and build them with particular reference to the Atlantic passage and the dangers from the ice. You had better consult with Jehan Alfonse. You are both skilled seamen, and what one overlooks the other will be sure to provide for."

He then proceeded to intrust to Claude the task of superintending the purchase of supplies. Enough provision would be needed for three hundred men for a year at least; and it would be necessary to see that everything could be hurried into St Malo at a moment's notice.

"And you, M. de la Pommeraye," he added, turning to Charles, "as you seem to have already taken it upon yourself to seek men for this expedition, have my authority to go into every vessel in the harbour, or in any harbour in France, and offer the men double their present wage; and if that will not induce them, go to the prisons and select such men as you think fit. You know a man when you see him; and this letter with the King's seal will open the prison gates before you. For myself, I must away to Picardy to set my estate in order. I shall return with all possible speed; meantime spare no efforts to hasten our preparations."

So the three men were dismissed, and as Claude and Charles were about to leave the house they looked stealthily round the hall. But no flutter of skirts nor any trace of woman's occupation rewarded them. Roberval noticed their glances, and as he bade them farewell he said, somewhat roughly: "St Malo is a dangerous place for women. I have left my niece at Court. If our great undertaking is to succeed, nothing must be allowed to distract our attention from our plans. No other cares must be allowed to interfere with our sole object in view—to increase the glory and renown of our beloved country."

The three men passed into the narrow streets, each absorbed in his own reflections. Cartier saw in imagination his name on the pages of history, next to that of Columbus. Claude had but one immediate end in view—to plan how he might extend his expeditions for supplies as far as Fontainebleau, while as for Charles, since the only way to reach Marguerite appeared to be by winning the good opinion of her uncle, he resolved, as a first step in that direction, to devote his whole energies to the task he had in hand.

Winter swiftly passed, spring lengthened to summer; summer was on the wane, and still the New World seemed no nearer. The ships were completed, and the empty hulls rode in the harbour of St Malo awaiting supplies and arms. But the money promised by the King was not forthcoming; and Cartier reluctantly prepared to spend another winter in old France. The prisons of St Malo were crowded to overflowing with criminals for the voyage; for only a few hardy adventurers had been secured by La Pommeraye. In August Roberval paid a flying visit to his fleet, inspected the vessels and men, and expressed himself strongly on the slowness of the King in keeping his promise. It would be useless to start for America during the autumn months; so he made up his mind to pay a second visit to Fontainebleau, see what could be done in view of the following spring, and take his niece and ward back to Picardy with him for the winter.

While he was in St Malo his steps were dogged, unknown to him, by a swarthy young mariner who had been engaged for the voyage. He had a French name, but a Spanish face; and Cartier, meeting him one day in the street, exclaimed: "Pamphilo de Narvaez, or his ghost!"

"I have been twice mistaken for that Spaniard, whose name I never heard till I came to this place," said the young man. "My name is Narcisse Belleau. Narvaez' bones lie at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico—at least so M. de la Pommeraye told me when he engaged me for this voyage."

"A most remarkable resemblance!" returned Cartier. "I would as soon have the Devil on board La Grande Hermine as De Narvaez. Be sure, young man, you join one of the other vessels. Belleau is your name, you say? A good name, but a Narvaez face!"

As he turned away the young Spaniard, for such he was, chuckled to himself: "A good name, indeed! And you and your fellows will rue the day you ever looked upon this face."

He was in very truth Pamphilo de Narvaez, a son of the famous sailor of that name, and had been sent as a spy from the Spanish Court to discover if the rumours of a mighty expedition being fitted out to occupy the New World—Spain's peculiar property—were true. Seeing that Roberval was the soul of the undertaking, he determined to bide his time, strike him down, and save Spain a bloody war in America. He learned that Roberval meant to visit Fontainebleau, and from there to set out with his niece for Picardy. A meeting on the road, with a few dare-devils to aid him, would end the expedition and win him honours and prosperity on his return to Spain.

So he planned; and when he had succeeded he would go to America and finish the work of exploration begun by his illustrious father.

In the meantime Claude and Charles, committing their stores and prisoners to the charge of Cartier, left St Malo, neither telling the other whither he was bound. By different roads, and almost simultaneously, they turned their horses' heads towards Paris; both hoping to meet Roberval and his party as they passed through that city on their way to their northern home. They reached their destination without encountering each other, took lodgings in adjoining streets, and, each unconscious of the other's presence, set out to make enquiries as to when the nobleman might be expected. Had they had long to wait they must have met; but one November day, very shortly after their arrival, a gay crowd of riders came galloping through the streets of the city. Their fluttering pennants, their nodding plumes, their gorgeous doublets and richly-ornamented cloaks, their finely damascened arms, studded with jewels, and their horses, as richly caparisoned as themselves, all told that they had come from the fashionable world of the Court at Fontainebleau.

Such was indeed the case; they had come to escort De Roberval and his household thus far on their northward way. The two young men learned where Roberval was to pass the night, and also that he intended to depart early the following morning, and each returned to his rooms, determined to be up with the lark in order to obtain at least a glimpse of the fair lady who had drawn him to Paris.

But Roberval was up before them; and armed from head to heel, and with a bodyguard of a few sturdy Picards, had already left the city. Claude was the first to reach the nobleman's headquarters, and, on learning of Roberval's departure only a few moments before, set spurs to his horse, hoping to overtake him before he could get clear of the walls. On arriving at the gate, however, he learned that the party had already passed through. There were three roads which would lead them to the ancient and renowned castle which frowned down upon the fruitful plains between the Bresle and the Somme. The nobleman had selected the longest route, but the safest in those troublous times. Claude paused for a few moments to consider this information. He, too, was fully armed, and wore a breastplate of steel beneath his riding cloak. His splendid figure, and the magnificent manner in which he sat his horse, caused some remark among the guards at the gate, of whom he made his enquiries. His resolution was soon taken. He decided to follow by the western and rougher road, which merged into the other at a distance of some miles. He would thus gain a point in advance of Roberval, after a few hours' hard riding, then he would at least have the satisfaction of forming one of the escort as far as the castle.

He set out accordingly; and scarcely was he out of sight when a second rider came up to the gates. When he found that he was too late even for a sight of his goddess, Charles had impulsively started in pursuit, though what he hoped to gain even if he did succeed in overtaking her, guarded as she was, he had no definite idea. The sentinel whom he questioned told him the direction Roberval had taken, and added the further information that a single horseman had but just ridden in hot haste after him, by a different route. A suspicion instantly flashed through Charles' mind, and the description of Claude furnished by the man left no doubt as to the rider's identity. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of his course—thinking only of Marguerite, whom he could not hope to see once she was behind those battlemented walls—Charles turned his horse, and galloped off by the third of the three roads mentioned. It was a shorter cut than either of the other two, but one which few travellers ever took, as every mile had witnessed some deed of violence from the bands of robbers who haunted it.

Roberval and his party made their way leisurely along the dusty road they had chosen, while the two young men rode with fevered haste along their less frequented paths. Towards noon the three were rapidly converging towards the same point, at which they would arrive almost simultaneously.

Claude, who was mounted on a swift charger, which had more than once carried him to victory in a tournament, was the first to reach this point. Scanning the ground he noted that no cavalcade had as yet passed that way. As he sat his horse and waited, the measured galloping of hoofs coming towards Paris fell upon his ears. He did not wish to meet strangers, so withdrew into a thick grove at one side of the road. Scarcely was he concealed when half a dozen hard riders, well horsed and armed at every point, drew rein at the very spot where he had first checked his steed. They surveyed the road hurriedly, and at a word from their leader plunged into a thicket at the opposite side.

"There is trouble in store for some one," said Claude to himself. "If I am not much mistaken, the leader of that gang of cut-throats is none other than Narcisse Belleau, whom, despite his good French and vehement protestations, I believe to be a Spanish spy. And now to my dagger and sword; I may need them. I would La Pommeraye were only here to lend his eye and arm to the coming struggle."

Scarcely had he finished examining his weapons when a cloud of dust slowly advancing in the distance told him that a party of considerable size was on its way towards the ambuscade. He anxiously awaited their approach, and soon recognised Roberval's Picard escort, and the fluttering skirts of the women. If the men in ambush were waiting for them they were doomed, unless he could warn them. To pass from his hiding meant almost instant death, but it must be risked; so he began slowly to make his way towards the road, and was soon at the very edge of the grove. When De Roberval was within a hundred yards he put spurs to his horse, which, seeming to scent danger, made a dash forward past the lurking-place of the assassins. The Spaniard and his comrades were so taken by surprise that for a moment they did not realise his intentions; but De Narvaez, with an oath, exclaimed: "It is De Pontbriand; shoot the dog down!" Their petronels rang out, but the clumsy weapons shot wide of the mark, and in a trice Claude was with his friends, who, alarmed by the firing, and the wild rush of the approaching rider, had come to a sudden standstill. Before they had time to question De Pontbriand the Spaniards were upon them, and with fierce shouts and drawn swords dashed into the group which now formed a protecting body about Marguerite, Marie, and Bastienne. There was a sudden checking of careering steeds, a clashing of weapons, a heavy falling of wounded men, and three of De Roberval's party and one of the foe lay in the dust. As De Narvaez shot past he placed his petronel against his breast and fired point blank at De Roberval, but quick-witted Bastienne, who saw his intention, struck her master's horse on the nose, and the animal, careering wildly, received the contents of the charge in the heart. The Spaniards rapidly returned to the attack. There were now but five of them opposed to the three Picards who remained with Claude and Roberval, and they expected an easy victory. Two of the Picards fell before their attack, and De Roberval himself was struck down by a fierce sabre blow which dinted his helmet. Claude found himself hard pressed by two of the ruffians at once. It must end in a moment.

But the shots which had been fired attracted a traveller who was always eager for a fray. Just at the critical moment La Pommeraye's horse turned the bend in the road. His accustomed eye took in the state of affairs at once. His sword leaped from its sheath, and with an energy which he seldom needed to exert he braced himself for the struggle. He was upon Claude's assailants in an instant; one quick thrust and a burly Spaniard fell forward on his face. The weapon seemed scarcely to have touched the man, so quickly was it withdrawn; and with the same motion that drew it forth La Pommeraye sent it crashing through the helmet of the other ruffian. De Narvaez and his two companions saw that they were foiled, and, striking fiercely at Claude, who fell beneath their united blows, they turned to flee. But they had lost a second too much. That last blow was their ruin. Charles was upon them like a whirlwind. His sword flashed like a destroying sunbeam, and two others fell lifeless on the road, while their steeds galloped wildly away. De Narvaez turned to face his foe; and his dark face blanched beneath the fierce eye of the French giant. It was but a moment. Charles crossed swords with him; once, twice—and as if he had been saying "One, two three, die!" he plunged his blade through and through the body of the spy.

"Hot work, but glorious!" he exclaimed, as the Spaniard fell heavily in the dust. "Five in as many minutes. But I must look to my friends."

Bastienne was sitting with her master's head in her lap. Marie had taken off Claude's helmet and revealed a ghastly wound on the temple. Marguerite stood beside her horse, shading her eyes with her hand, her face tense and strained as she watched the issue of the combat. It was not till the victor, flushed but triumphant, his gay riding-suit covered with blood and dust, advanced, and doffing his hat almost to the ground bowed low before her, that she recognised La Pommeraye.

"Mademoiselle is uninjured, I trust?" said Charles.

The blood had mounted to her cheek as she saw in their preserver her rude assailant of nearly a year before, but she kept the quiet dignity of her manner. Drawing off one glove she held out her hand, saying as she did so:

"Monsieur, under God we owe you all our lives. But for your timely appearance, what would have become of three defenceless women when my uncle fell?"

The delicate fingers lay for a moment in La Pommeraye's mighty grasp, as he raised them reverently to his lips, hardly believing in his own good fortune. They were instantly withdrawn, however, and Marguerite hastened to her uncle's side.

De Roberval was only stunned, and might safely be left to Bastienne's skill. It was otherwise with Claude. The wound was a severe one, as Charles instantly recognised.

"Pardon me," he said to Marie, who, less self-controlled than Marguerite, had given way, once the crisis had passed, and was weeping hysterically, "pardon me, Mademoiselle, but I must lift him out of the heat and dust."

With tender hands he raised his comrade, and carried him into the shade. He was a skilled surgeon—taught by frequent experience—and with help from the women soon had the wound bandaged. In the meantime Roberval had recovered from his swoon, and was rubbing his eyes with amazement at the strange turn events had taken.

"How came you here?" exclaimed he to La Pommeraye.

"My evil genius prompted me to come to the aid of an ungrateful nobleman," replied Charles, laughingly. "But it was just as well for you that I did. However, it was a grand fight; and could I only have one like it every day in France, you would not get me to go to Canada. But I will not equivocate, Sieur," he added in a lower voice, drawing Roberval a little aside, "I came here, as no doubt did De Pontbriand, who was, I believe, in Paris yesterday, to accompany you on your way to Picardy. Why, you know best, but we cannot speak of it now."

De Roberval scowled, and then exclaimed with enthusiasm:

"You are a noble fellow! There were five against us when I fell, and now your bloody sword tells a heroic tale. But here, Etienne," and he turned to his only surviving retainer, who had stood all this time staring stupidly at La Pommeraye as if he had been a god suddenly descended from the sky, "look to the wounded, and you, Bastienne, help him. Are all my brave fellows dead? See what can be done, and then ride like the wind to the inn, five leagues ahead of us, and fetch men to bury the dead and bear the wounded home. But what is this? De Pontbriand wounded?"

Claude was still unconscious. He was borne to the inn on a rude litter of boughs, and there La Pommeraye watched and tended him till he was out of danger. But he was still too weak to be moved, and with the wretched accommodation and attendance which the inn afforded, his recovery bade fair to be slow. Seeing this, De Roberval had him removed to his castle, which was but a few leagues distant, and there Charles, who was not included in the invitation, was reluctantly obliged to leave his friend and return to St Malo alone. He would have been much more reluctant had not the tears which Marie had shed, as he imagined, over Claude's body, convinced him still more firmly that she was the object of his affection.

And so it happened that Claude spent a large part of the winter in Picardy, watched over and waited upon, as his strength slowly returned, by the fair hands of Marguerite de Roberval and her vivacious friend and companion, Marie de Vignan.