"He's not a savage. Tayoga was educated in our schools and he has both the white man's learning and the red man's. He has the virtues, too, of both races, and few, very few of their vices."

"You're an enthusiast about your friend."

"And so would you be if you knew him as well as I do. That little speech he made showed his courage and the greatness of his soul."

"Spoken at such a time, its appeal was strong. I don't want to boast of my race, Mr. Lennox, but the French always respond to a gallant act."

"I know it, and I know, too, that if we English, and Americans or Bostonnais, as you call us, do go to war with you we could not possibly have a more enterprising or dangerous foe."

Colonel de Courcelles bowed to the compliment, and then with a nod indicated Tandakora, also standing against the wall, huge, sullen and looking like a splash of red flame, wrapped in his long scarlet blanket.

"He, at least, is a savage," he said.

"That I readily admit," said Robert.

"And as you know by the charges that he made against you to me, he wishes you and your comrades no good."

"I know by those charges and by events that have occurred since.

Tandakora is a savage through and through, and as such my comrades and I must guard against him."

"But the Ojibway is a devoted friend of ours," said a harsh voice over his shoulders.

He turned and saw the lowering face of Boucher, and once more he was amazed. De Courcelles did not give the youth time to answer. Again he laughingly waved Boucher away.

"Pierre, my friend," he said, "you seem to be seeking points of issue tonight. Now, I refuse to let you and Mr. Lennox quarrel over the manners, habits and personal characteristics of Tandakora. Come, Mr.

Lennox, I'm about to present you to a lady with whom you are going to dance."

Robert went away with him and he saw that Boucher, who was left behind, was frowning, but he danced with the lady and others, and as the excitement of the moment mounted again to his head he forgot all about Boucher. He saw too that de Galisonniere had abandoned his restraint, and had plunged into the gayety with all the enthusiasm and delight of one to whom pleasure was natural. After a while de Courcelles hooked his arm again in Robert's and said: "Come, I'll show you something."

He led the way down a narrow pa.s.sage, and then into a large apartment, well lighted, though not so brilliantly as the ballroom. A clicking sound had preceded their entrance, and Robert was aware that he was in the famous gambling room of Monsieur Bigot. Nearly twenty men, including the Intendant himself, Cadet and Pean, were there, gambling eagerly with cards or dice.

And standing by one of the tables, a frown on his freckled face, Robert also saw the man, Boucher.

CHAPTER XII

THE HUNTER AND THE BRAVO

Robert turned away, not wishing to meet Boucher again, as he felt that the man would say something provocative, and, standing on one side with de Courcelles, he watched the players. The air was heated, and the faces of the men were strained and eager. It was all unwholesome to the last degree, and he felt repulsion, yet it held him for the time with a fascination due to curiosity. He saw Boucher begin to play and as the latter held his cards, noticed again his thick and strong, but supple wrists. Uncommon wrists they were, and Robert knew that an uncommon amount of power was stored in them.

Bigot presently observed Robert, and asked him to play, but the lad declined, and he was brave enough to say that he never played. Bigot laughed and shook his head.

"Ah, you Puritan Bostonnais!" he said; "you'll never learn how to live."

Then he went back to his game.

"I think," said Robert, upon whom the heat and thick air were beginning to tell, "that I'd like to go outside and breathe a little fresh air."

"It is like a hothouse in here," said de Courcelles.

"It's but a step from this room to a little garden, where we can find all the cool air we want."

"Then show the way," said Robert quickly. He was eager to escape from the room, not alone for the sake of air, but because the place choked him. After a period of excitement and mental intoxication the reaction had come. The colors were growing dimmer, the perfume in the air turned to poison, and he longed for the clean out-of-doors.

De Courcelles opened a small door and they stepped out. Robert did not notice that Boucher instantly put down his cards and followed. Before them was a gra.s.sy lawn with borders of rose bushes, and beyond, the vast sweep of the hills, the river and the far sh.o.r.e showed dimly through the dusk. The air, moved by a light wind, was crisp, fresh and pure, and, as Robert breathed it deeply, he felt his head grow clear and cool. Several men were walking in the garden. One of them was Jumonville, and the others he did not know.

"A wonderful site and a wonderful view," said Robert.

"But from Montmartre in Paris one may see a far greater city," said Boucher at his elbow.

Robert turned angrily upon him. He felt that the man, in some manner, was pursuing him, and that he had stood enough.

"I did not speak to you, Monsieur Boucher," he said.

"But I spoke to you, my young sprig of a Bostonnais."

He spoke with truculence, and now de Courcelles did not interfere. The others, hearing loud and harsh words, drew near. Jumonville came very close and regarded Robert with great intentness, evidently curious to see what he would do. The youth stared at Boucher in amazement, but he exercised his utmost self-control.

"I know that you spoke to me, Monsieur Boucher," he said, "but as I do not see any relevancy in your remarks I will ask you to excuse me. I came here merely for the air with Colonel de Courcelles."

He turned away, expecting de Courcelles to resume the walk with him, but the figure of the Frenchman stiffened and he did not move. All at once a wind of hostility seemed to be blowing. Somewhere in the dusk, somebody laughed lightly. Robert's face blazed, but he was still master of himself.

"And so you would leave after speaking to me in a manner that is an insult," sneered Boucher.

"You were the first to give an insult."

"If you think so I am ready to return satisfaction."

Boucher folded his arms across his chest, his powerful wrists crossed, and stared at Robert, his lips wrinkling in ugly fashion. It was a look like that which Tandakora had given him, and there in the background was the huge and sinister figure of the Indian, wrapped in his blanket of flame. He also saw de Mezy and he too was sneering in insolent triumph.

De Courcelles, from whom he had a right at that time to expect friendship, or at least support, had drawn farther away.

"I am a guest here," said Robert, "and I seek no trouble. I don't wish to mar the hospitality of Monsieur Bigot by being a party to a quarrel in his garden."

Again that light laugh came from a point somewhere in the dusk and again Robert's face blazed, but he still held himself under firm control.

"You were ready enough to fight Count Jean de Mezy this morning," said Boucher, "knowing that he was not in condition and that you had a skill with the sword not suspected by him."

The truth of it all flashed upon Robert with the certainty of conviction. The entire situation had been arranged and de Courcelles was one of its princ.i.p.als. He had been brought into the garden that a fight might be forced upon him there. Boucher was a bravo and undoubtedly a great swordsman. He understood now the secret of those thick flexible wrists and of the man's insulting manner. His blood became ice in his veins for a moment or two, but it was good for him, cooling his head and quickening his mind. His heart beat with regularity and steadiness.

"I thank you, Monsieur de Courcelles," he said, "for your action in this matter, which I now understand. It's true that it departs in some respects from what I have understood to be the code and practice of a French gentleman, but doubtless, sir, it's your right to amend those standards as you choose."

De Courcelles flushed, bit his lip and was silent.

"Very pretty! Very pretty!" sneered Boucher, "but French gentlemen are the best judges of their own manners and morals. You have your sword, sir, and I have mine. Here is a fine open s.p.a.ce, well lighted by the moon, and no time is better than the present. Will you draw, sir?"