Never did two men know the Indians as these two did." I thought a moment, then: "Somewhere I heard that Captain Joncaire had a daughter.

But she married another man--one Louis de Contrecoeur----" I hesitated, glanced again at the name scratched on the glass over the lock of hair, and shook my head.
"Jean Coeur--Louis de Contrecoeur.

The names scarce hang together--yet----" "Look at this!" she whispered in a low, tense voice, and laid a bit of printing in my hand.
It was a stained and engraved sheet of paper--a fly-leaf detached from a book of Voltaire.

And above the scroll-encompassed title was written in faded ink: "Le Capitaine Vicomte Louis Jean de Contrecoeur du Regiment de la Reine." And under that, in a woman's fine handwriting: "Mon coeur, malgre; mon coeur, se rendre a Contrecoeur, dit Jean Coeur; coeur contre coeur." "That," she said, "is the same writing that the birch bark bears, sewed in my moccasins." "Then," I said excitedly, "your mother was born Mademoiselle Joncaire, and you are Lois de Contrecoeur!" She sat with eyes lowered, fingering the stained and faded page.

After a moment she said: "I wrote to France--to the Headquarters of the Regiment de la Reine--asking about my--father." "You had an answer ?" "Aye, the answer came....