It was a smile of deep understanding, as if suddenly there had burst upon him a light which he had not seen before.
"I love her as the flowers love the sunshine, as the wood violets love the rains," he said, touching Philip's arm.

"And that, M'sieur, is not what you understand as the love of a man.

There is one other whom I love in another way, whose voice is the sweetest music in the world, whose heart beats with mine, whose soul leads me day and night through the forests, and who whispers to me of our sweet love in my dreams--Iowaka, my wife! Come, M'sieur; I will take you to her." "It is late--too late," voiced Philip wonderingly.
But as he spoke he followed Jean.

The half-breed seemed to have risen out of his world now.

There was a wonderful light in his face, a something that seemed to reach back through centuries that were gone--and in this moment Philip thought of Marechal, of Prince Rupert, of le Chevalier Grosselier--of the adventurous and royal blood that had first come over to the New World to form the Great Company, and he knew that of such men as these was Jean Jacques Croisset, the forest man.