“Brick, brick!” the officer exclaimed.

“Yes, of course. I understand that. But you said her father’s inn, although very large, is of logs.”

“True enough, Madame Corbusier. But the girl was not taken from the inn. She had been on a visit to her grandmother in Philadelphia and was being brought home when attacked and stolen. The houses of Philadelphia, if you have ever been there, are of red brick. Her grandmother’s house was of this material and it would likely make a strong impression on a little girl from the frontier.”

“It is all clear now.” Madame Corbusier wiped her eyes. “You yourself are surely an emissary of le bon Dieu, Major. Everything continues to fall into its place. Another of my girls, Simone, has fought against being returned to her parents alone. Now both girls can go together. One will sustain the other. It will be a great loss to me, for I have grown fond of them both. But it would not be morally right for me to keep them here while their mothers mourn. You look doubtful, Major.”

“Not at all. I quite subscribe to your sentiments. I am only puzzled to some extent by this small boy who stands here. It can’t be Mary Stanton’s child. She’s so young and he looks Indian.”

“It is her child, Major, and he is Indian indeed,” Madame Corbusier assured. “Claire, or Mary as you call her, had an Indian husband in captivity. A very worthy man, I understand. He is dead now.”

“I hadn’t realized that,” the officer said. He looked troubled. “You know, Madame Corbusier, there is the question of Captain and Mrs. Stanton.”

“I see no conflict there,” Madame Corbusier declared. “They are the grandparents and we all know how devoted grandparents are. Their own blood flows in the child. How could you think otherwise?”

“You are French, madame,” he reminded. “We are English.”

“You English are human, are you not, Major?” Madame Corbusier exclaimed.

“I hope so,” he said humbly, but there were reservations in his eyes.

An evening or two later Madame Corbusier called both girls to the front room. Her bright black eyes looked suspiciously wet.

“I feel I must tell you what has developed. It’s sad for me but happy for your parents and you. Père Le Clercq and I have been busy. It is arranged for you to be delivered to the bosoms of your families. The hand of le bon Dieu continues to move in the entire transaction. Already last fall Père Le Clercq was to be recalled for discussions with the superiors of his society in Montreal. He couldn’t leave the parish but Père Beaujeau has since been sent to relieve him and serve as an assistant when he returns. Père Le Clercq had expected to take the sloop Michigan but now he will engage a bateau and experienced bateaumen to take you all first to the province of Colonel Johnson, then to Pennsylvania. Your parents will not be taxed any more than what I paid for your freedom and the transportation, of course, to your homes. Only after you have been safely delivered to your families will Père Le Clercq travel north to Montreal, where I’m sure his superiors will suitably reward him.”