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,
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.