"Father Chaumonot, who knows his Indian as a Turk knows his Koran."
"And does his Majesty intend to make Frenchmen of these savages?"
"They are already Frenchmen," was the answer. "There remains only to
teach them how to speak and pray like Frenchmen."
"And he will be quiet and docile?" ventured the inn-keeper, who still
entertained some doubts.
"If no one offers him an indignity. The Iroquois is a proud man. But
I see Monsieur Nicot calling to you; Monsieur Nicot, whose ancestor,
God bless him! introduced this weed into France;" and Du Puys refilled
his pipe, applied an ember, took off his faded baldric and rapier, and
reclined full length on the bench. Maître le Borgne hurried away to
attend to the wants of Monsieur Nicot. Presently the soldier said:
"Shall we sail to-morrow, Master Mariner?"
"As the weather wills." Bouchard bent toward the fire and with the aid
of a pair of tongs drew forth the end of a broken spit, white with
heat. This he plunged into a tankard of spiced port; and at once there
arose a fragrant steam. He dropped the smoking metal to the floor, and
drank deeply from the tankard. "Zachary, we shall see spring all
glorious at Quebec, which is the most beautiful promontory in all the
world. Upon its cliffs France will build her a new and mighty Paris.
You will become a great captain, and I shall grow as rich as our host's
cousin."
"Amen; and may the Holy Virgin speed us to the promised land." Du Puys
blew above his head a winding cloud of smoke. "A brave race, these
black cassocks; for they carry the Word into the jaws of death. Ad
majorem Dei gloriam. There was Father Jogues. What privations, what
tortures he endured! And an Iroquois sank a hatchet into his brain. I
have seen the Spaniard at his worst, the Italian, the Turk, but for
matchless cruelty the Iroquois has no rival. And this cunning Mazarin
promises and promises us money and men, while those who reckon on his
word struggle and die. Ah well, monseigneur has the gout; he will die
of it."
"And this Marquis de Périgny; will not Father Chaumonot waste his
time?" asked the mariner.
"Who can say? The marquis is a strange man. He is neither Catholic
nor Huguenot; he fears neither God nor the devil. He laughs at death,
since to him there is no hereafter. Yet withal, he is a man of justice
and of many generous impulses. But woe to the man who crosses his
path. His peasants are well fed and clothed warmly; his servants
refuse to leave him. He was one of the gayest and wildest courtiers in
Paris, a man who has killed twenty men in duels. There are two things
that may be said in his favor; he is without hypocrisy, and is an
honest and fearless enemy. Louis XIII was his friend, the Duc de Rohan
his comrade. He has called Gaston of Orléans a coward to his face.