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� . Merely a word or two� . The Vicomte Louis Jean de Contrecoeur fell at Lake George in