Shortly after the door had closed upon the company of merry-makers and

their loud voices had resolved into untranslatable murmurs, three men

came into the public room and ranged themselves in front of the fire.

The close fitting, long black cassocks, the wide-brimmed hats looped up

at the sides, proclaimed two of them to belong to the Society of Jesus.

The third, his body clothed in nondescript skins and furs, his feet in

beaded moccasins, his head hatless and the coarse black hair adorned

with a solitary feather from a heron's wing and glistening with melting

snow, the color of his skin unburnished copper, his eyes black, fierce,

restless,--all these marked the savage of the New World. Potboys,

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grooms, and guests all craned their necks to get a glimpse of this

strange and formidable being of whom they had heard such stories as

curdled the blood and filled the night with troubled dreams. A crowd

gathered about, whispering and nodding and pointing. The Iroquois

beheld all this commotion with indifference not unmixed with contempt.

When he saw Du Puys and Bouchard pressing through the crowd, his lips

relaxed. These were men whom he knew to be men and tried warriors.

After greeting the two priests, Du Puys led them to a table and

directed Maître le Borgne to bring supper for three. The Iroquois,

receiving a pleasant nod from Father Chaumonot, took his place at the

table. And Le Borgne, pale and trembling, took the red man's order for

meat and water.

"Ah, Captain," said Chaumonot, "it is good to see you again."

"Major, Father; Major."

"You have received your commission, then?"

"Finally."

"Congratulations! Will you direct me at once to the Hôtel de Périgny?

I must see the marquis to-night, since we sail to-morrow."

"As soon as you have completed your supper," said Du Puys. Then

lowering his voice: "The marquis's son is in yonder room."

"Then the marquis has a son?" said Brother Jacques, with an

indescribable smile. "And by what name is he known?"

"The Chevalier du Cévennes."

Strange fires glowed in the young Jesuit's eyes. He plucked at his

rosary. "The Chevalier du Cévennes: the ways of God are inscrutable."

"In what way, my son?" asked Chaumonot.

"I met the Chevalier in Paris." Brother Jacques folded his arms and

stared absently at his plate.




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