“You see!” she said. “There are no horns. We’re little different from those who go to school in Boston, we who are educated in convents! I think of only two differences. It is perhaps difficult for us to speak in English without first saying the words to ourselves in French, and then translating into English. Also I think we learn to speak more freely: to ask questions about things we do not understand, rather than be silent about them.”

Nathaniel laughed. “There’s no doubt about that: no doubt you learn to ask questions!” He addressed me almost with bitterness. “Just when a person wants a little quiet, she starts asking questions!” He poured out a flood of them, making his voice ladylike, in what he doubtless conceived to be an imitation of Ellen: “How old is your sister Jane? What does your mother look like? How old was she when she was married? How old is Captain Peter? How does it happen he’s named Peter? What day is his birthday? How long has he been a sea captain? What did he do before that? Does he stay at home part of the time or does he go sailing always? Where does he sail to? What’s Spain like? Are the girls in Spain beautiful? Do you speak Spanish? Does Captain Peter speak Spanish? Has he been in love, ever?”

Ellen’s reply was tranquil. “It is impossible to learn without asking. My brother Joseph says that Indians are ignorant because they are too proud to ask questions. Besides, I asked you no questions except when you were all gloom and darkness, through thinking of my dear aunt.” To me she added: “Many of those questions I asked for no reason at all except to make your brother forget himself in replying to them. We were taught to do this by the good sisters at the convent.”

Nathaniel looked sheepish; but I smiled benevolently, greatly pleased with him—not only because he was safely beyond the reach of Marie de Sabrevois, but because he was wholly uninterested in Ellen.

“It seems to me,” I said, turning to Nathaniel, “that all of us must give some serious consideration to your orders from General Arnold. He’s going to Albany today: at once. It might be just possible that he’d consent to carry Ellen with him, if she feels she must go there. He was right about unmarried women traveling with the army; and Arnold doesn’t talk for the fun of hearing himself talk, as you should well know.”

Ellen dropped her hands in her lap and stared round-eyed at me. “Arnold!” she cried. “General Arnold! That was never General Arnold!”

“Who did you think it was?” I asked her. “Didn’t you see he limped? Of course it was Arnold: the man who made the greatest march that ever was—who’d have taken Quebec if he hadn’t stopped a bullet when he was needed most.”