A meadowlark sang dreamingly in the wild grass of the low lands hard by, over which two or three prairie hawks hovered with wings that beat rapidly.
"Eh bien, I must go," said Rene presently, getting to his feet nimbly and evading Father Beret's hand which would have held him.
"Not to the river house, my son ?" said the priest appealingly.
"No, not there; I have another letter; one for M'sieu' Roussillon; it came by the boat too.

I go to give it to Madame Roussillon." Rene de Ronville was a dark, weather-stained young fellow, neither tall nor short, wearing buckskin moccasins, trousers and tunic.

His eyes were dark brown, keen, quick-moving, set well under heavy brows.

A razor had probably never touched his face, and his thin, curly beard crinkled over his strongly turned cheeks and chin, while his moustaches sprang out quite fiercely above his full-lipped, almost sensual mouth.
He looked wiry and active, a man not to be lightly reckoned with in a trial of bodily strength and will power.
Father Beret's face and voice changed on the instant.

He laughed dryly and said, with a sly gleam in his eyes: "You could spend the evening pleasantly with Madame Roussillon and Jean.