Doc Means yawned. “There’s been some discussion about auctioning off what’s left of it, on account of not needing it after the 12th. Let’s see: yesterday was the 12th, wasn’t it?”

Lanaudiere stared from one to the other of us with the same faint smile.

“Look here, sir,” I said. “I was captain of the Congress galley. I’ve had about five hours’ sleep in three days, and I need more. I’m a prisoner of war. What are your intentions concerning us?”

“My intentions?” Lanaudiere asked. “My intentions are to send you back to Isle aux Noix under guard until such time as you’re exchanged. Why do you ask?”

“For one thing,” I said, “I know your Indians want to get their fingers on us; and for another thing, our little experience with you last spring has—well—–”

I stopped, knowing we were in too delicate a position to be strictly truthful. Lanaudiere helped me out. “You mean you have no confidence in me?”

I nodded.

“My dear sir!” Lanaudiere said. “You must remember several things. I helped you reach America safely with your specie, which you might otherwise have had difficulty in doing. What was more, we were then not actually at war—–”

“Do you mean this is the first time you have fought against us?” I asked. “Weren’t you in Quebec last winter, with your niece?”

It was more in the manner of the reticent, self-effacing Mr. Leonard we had first known that he passed over my question. “Surely you’ve heard the old adage to the effect that there are times when all is fair.”

My brain seemed all fog and sawdust. Lanaudiere’s words, the yowling of the Indians, had blank spots in them as waves of sleep washed over me. I could hardly speak for yawning, let alone think.

“My brother—–” I said. “You’ll send a letter—they’ll exchange for us—we helped General Arnold—very worried about my brother—–”

Lanaudiere took his bearskin from the corner. There was a bed of spruce tips beneath it. “You are troubled by lack of sleep,” he said soothingly. “In the morning these worries will seem like nothing! You shall have my own tent, the three of you, for tonight.”

It was possible, I sleepily realized, that I had misjudged him. He had deceived us and spied on us; but now he was doing his best to be both kind and good.

I tried, in a heavy way, to thank him; but he wouldn’t listen. “There are other tents where I can sleep. Here, it’s merely a matter of posting extra guards.” He absent-mindedly repeated the words “extra guards,” and went out, his bearskin over his shoulder.

With one accord Verrieul, Doc Means and I staggered to the bed of spruce tips. Since I cannot remember how it felt, I think my senses must have left me before my body reached it.