"Monsieur du Cévennes," said D'Hérouville, just before supper that
first night of their arrival on Canadian soil, "I see that you are not
quite strong enough to keep the engagement. This day two weeks: will
that be agreeable?"
"It will; though I should be better pleased to fix the scene for
to-morrow morning."
D'Hérouville raised a deprecating hand. "I should not like to have it
said that I took advantage of a man's weakness. Of course, if you wish
absolutely to force it . . ."
The Chevalier looked thoughtfully at his pale hands. "I shall take
advantage of your courtesy, Monsieur le Comte."
"How polite men are when about to cut each other's throats!" The
Vicomte d'Halluys adjusted his baldric and entered the great
dining-hall of the Château Saint Louis.
He and D'Hérouville sat side by side.
"Vicomte, you have never told me why the Chevalier is here. Why should
he leave France, he, who possessed a fortune, who had Mazarin's favor,
and who had all the ladies at his feet?"
"Ask him when you meet him," answered the vicomte, testing the
governor's burgundy.
"And will you pay me those ten thousand livres which you wagered
against my claims for madame's hand?"
The vicomte took a sip of the wine. There was no verbal answer, but
his eyes spoke.
"Quebec promises to afford a variety," commented d'Hérouville, glancing
to where the Chevalier sat.
"It is quite probable," affably returned the vicomte. "This is good
wine for a wilderness like this. To be sure, it comes from France; I
had forgotten."
The first fortnight passed with the excitement attendant to taking up
quarters in a strange land. The Chevalier, Victor and the vicomte were
given rooms in the citadel; D'Hérouville accepted the courtesy of the
governor and became a resident of the château; father Chaumonot, Major
du Puys, and his selected recruits, had already made off for Onondaga.
A word from Father Chaumonot into the governor's ear promoted the
Chevalier to a lieutenancy in lieu of Nicot's absence in Onondaga.
Everything began very well.
Seldom a day went by without a skirmish with the Iroquois, who had
grown impudent and fearless again. The Iroquois were determined to
destroy their ancient enemies, the Hurons, primarily because they hated
them, and secondarily because they were allies of the French. France
did what she could in reason to stop these depredations, but the task
needed an iron gauntlet, and De Lauson was a civilian. At this period
the Mohawks were the fiercest, the Onondagas having agreed to a
temporary treaty. Marauders were brought in and punished, but usually
the punishment was trivial compared to the offense. The governor
wished to rule by kindness; but his lieutenants knew the Indian
thoroughly. He must not be treated with kindness where justice was
merited; it gave him the idea that the white man was afraid.
Therefore, his depredations should be met with a vengeance swift and
final and convincing. But nine times out of ten De Lauson and the
priests overruled the soldiers; and the depredations continued
unabated. Once, however, the Chevalier succeeded in having several
gibbets erected on the island of Orléans, and upon these gibbets he
strung half a dozen redskins who had murdered a family of peaceful
Hurons.