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tenacity of her compatriots.
    Several wooden houses nestled in the shadow of Cap Diamant. Canoes and small boats of all types were beached on the shore. In the distance, a steep road scaled the cliff, leading to the upper part of the town.
    If the departure from Le Havre had seemed picturesque to Jeanne, the arrival in Quebec left her speechless. Besides the governor’s delegation presenting arms with a flourish of trumpets, she saw a crowd of citizens on the wharf attracted by this much anticipated event: the arrival of a ship. The coureurs de bois with their strange fringed shirts and their fur caps never parted with their guns. To her the Indians seemed peaceful, even somewhat dazed, and she couldn’t figure out why people spoke of them with such terror. At the time she did not know those Indians had been transformed by living with the whites; they had nothing in common with their brothers, the fierce kings of the forest.
    The passengers, gathered on deck with their trunks and suitcases, silently studied the grand scenery spread before them. The less courageous felt overwhelmed by that immense rock, that gigantic river, those endless forests they had been sailing by for days. How distant were the peaceful contours and gentle colours of the French countryside!
    Leaning against the rail between Jeanne and her lieutenant, Marie looked around with frightened eyes.
    â€œEverything seems so big, so threatening,” she shivered.
    â€œNo, it’s all magnificent,” contradicted Jeanne enthusiastically. “The air smells of pine. You can see that the country is brand-new.”
    With a great uproar of shouting and noise, the gangplank finally linked the ship with solid ground.
    Monsieur de Frontenac, the governor who had just taken office, came forward, hat in hand. Sister Bourgeoys was the first to cross the narrow wooden plank. The Quebeckers cheered her, knowing that each of her numerous voyages contributed to the colony’s well-being.
    At a signal from the captain, the king’s daughters, led by Jeanne, set foot on the soil of New France. Many of them were disappointed that the rolling and pitching sensation of the ship didn’t disappear, but persisted for several hours.
    From a distance, the awed Quebeckers inspected these girls daring enough to land in a wild country with no protection other than that offered by a potential husband. The married men looked at what they had missed, and the bachelors took inventory of the possibilities.
    The girls, embarrassed by all those covetous glances, blushed and lowered their eyes. Only Jeanne, filled with wonder and fascination, looked at everything around her and answered the murmured words of welcome with an open smile.
    The local women surrounded them, full of questions about the price of food in France and about fashions in Paris. The six novices and the king’s daughters, fresh from the convent, were unable to answer them, and the curious women swooped down on other better-informed passengers.
    Sister Bourgeoys reassembled her little troupe and preceded them through the narrow streets of the Lower Town.
    Jeanne lingered behind, stopping to examine an Indian woman carrying her baby strapped to her back in a strange leather and wood cocoon.
    â€œHow practical,” she marvelled. “That leaves your hands free to work. You have a beautiful baby,” she assured the woman, who stared back at her impassively. But a flash of maternal pride lit her dark eyes.
    Jeanne picked up her skirts and dashed off after the dainty group of king’s daughters. Her white-stockinged legs agilely cleaved the air. Marie was absolutely scandalized.
    â€œYou’re not thinking, Jeanne, running through the streets like an urchin. What would Mother de Chablais say? A lady doesn’t do that.”
    â€œThat’s right,” the thoughtless girl humbly admitted. “I’m not a lady, far from it.”
    Nonetheless, she wasn’t about to hang