"Your reply, Monsieur," returned Du Puys, coloring, "would be entirely
just were it not for the fact that a messenger from Paris directly
concerns me. I am Captain Zachary du Puys, of Fort Louis, Quebec."
"Indeed, Captain," said De Saumaise, smiling again, "that simplifies
everything. You are one of the gentlemen whom I am come to seek."
"Monsieur," said the choleric Nicot, "accept my apologies; but,
nevertheless, I still adhere to the statement, that you smell badly of
wet horses." He bowed.
"And I accept the apology and confess to the impeachment."
"And besides," said Nicot, naively, "you kicked my shin cruelly."
"What! I thought it was the table-leg! It is my turn to apologise.
You no longer crave my blood?"
"No, Monsieur," sadly. Every one laughed.
Maître le Borgne, wiped his perspiring forehead and waited for the
orders which were likely to follow this amicable settlement of the
dispute; and bewailed not unwisely. Brawls were the bane of his
existence, and he did his utmost to prevent them from becoming common
affairs at the Corne d'Abondance. He trotted off to the cellars,
muttering into his beard. Nicot and the king's messenger finished
their supper, and then the latter was led to one of the chimney benches
by Du Puys, who was desirous of questioning him.
"Monsieur," began De Saumaise, "I am told that I bear your commission
as major." He produced a packet which he gave to the captain.
"I am perfectly aware of that. It was one of Mazarin's playful
devices. I was to have had it while in Paris; and his Eminence put me
off for no other reason than to worry me. Ah, well, he has the gout."
"And he has also the money," laughed Victor; "and may he never rid
himself of the one till he parts from the other. But I congratulate
you, Major; and her Majesty and Father Vincent de Paul wish you well in
your perilous undertaking. Come; tell me about this wonderful New
France. Is it true that gold is picked up as one would pick up sand?"
"By the Hundred Associates, traders, and liquor dealers," grimly.
"Alas! I had hopes 'twere picked up without labor. The rings on my
purse slip off both ends, as the saying goes."
"Why not come to Quebec? You have influence; become a grand seigneur."
"Faith, I love my Paris too well. And I have no desire to wear out my
existence in opening paths for my descendants, always supposing I leave
any. No, no! There is small pleasure in praying all day and fighting
all night. No, thank you. Paris is plenty for me." Yet there was
something in the young man's face which spoke of fear, a nervous look
such as one wears when caught in the toils of secret dread.