He had made many pauses and now lay back exhausted, his face growing grayer. Gaspard roused the nurse.
"Go up to the church," he said, "the priest's house, and bring some one. Quick! The man is dying."
"Renée," he murmured, "you will be a great lady in France. Your mother's mother was, and fled away because a king loved her. A king!" He laughed shrilly and a rattle came in his throat. "And you must go back to them, to your own kind. This wild life is not for you. As for that young stripling, he is dancing at the Guinolee and singing love songs to pretty girls. Thou art not the only pretty girl in St. Louis, Renée----"
Then there was a long silence. Once or twice Gaspard thought him dead, but he started and muttered both French and Indian words. It was near midnight when the good father came, and he shook his head sadly.
"I fear it is too late," in a regretful tone, while a look of pity crossed his face. "Still we must try to the last moment. Antoine Freneau, it is I, Père Lemoine. Listen! Death is near. Dost thou repent of thy sins, which have been many, doubtless, hidden from man but not escaping the eye of God? There may yet be mercy vouchsafed."
The dying man clutched the blanket and stared dully, yet he seemed to listen.
"Oh, yes, yes!" he cried suddenly. "At St. Anne's down the river. Yes, we both confessed----"
Whether he understood any of the service was doubtful, but the good priest did his duty according to his conscience and the times. But before he had ended the last prayer both knew he was dead, and had passed without a struggle.
"I will stay the rest of the night with you," said the priest. "And since you have the child, I suppose you will be the proper person to take charge. It is supposed the old man had not a little wealth--if the marauders did not take it all away."
The woman came in to prepare the body. Round the old man's neck was a strong bit of wire like cord, and a key. Gaspard took this. It fitted the box.
After daylight they took a survey of the place. There were some firearms stored away, blankets, furs that were motheaten and of little value, some Indian habiliments; but it was evident the place had been pretty thoroughly ransacked.
So they buried Antoine Freneau, and for some days it was the sensation of the little town. Gaspard Denys now took the formal guardianship of Renée de Longueville. He had the record of her mother's marriage, her birth and christening. Some of the goods were worth saving, the others were distributed among the poorest of the Indians about.