I, "there is a way"; and I waved towards
his men, then to Mr. Stevens and my own ambushed fellows.

He smiled an acid smile, and took a pinch of snuff. "It is not so
fiery-edged as that," he answered; "I can endure it."

"You shall have time too for reverie," answered I.

He looked puzzled. "What is't you wish?" he asked.

"Your surrender first," said I, "and then your company at breakfast."

"The latter has meaning and compliment," he responded, "the former is
beyond me. What would you do with me?"

"Detain you and your shallop for the services of my master, the King of
England, soon to be the master of your master, if the signs are right."

"All signs fail with the blind, monsieur."

"I will give you good reading of those signs in due course," retorted I.

"Monsieur," he added, with great, almost too great dignity, "I am of the
family of the Duc de Mirepoix. The whole Kamaraska Isles are mine, and
the best gentlemen in this province do me vassalage. I make war on none,
I have stepped aside from all affairs of state, I am a simple gentleman.
I have been a great way down this river, at large expense and toil, to
purchase wheat, for all the corn of these counties goes to Quebec to
store the King's magazine, the adored La Friponne. I know not your
purposes, but I trust you will not push your advantage"--he waved
towards our muskets--"against a private gentleman."

"You forget, Chevalier," said I, "that you gave verdict for my death."

"Upon the evidence," he replied. "And I have no doubt you deserve
hanging a thousand times."

I almost loved him for his boldness. I remembered also that he had no
wish to be one of my judges, and that he spoke for me in the presence of
the Governor. But he was not the man to make a point of that.

"Chevalier," said I, "I have been foully used in yonder town; by the
fortune of war you shall help me to compensation. We have come a long,
hard journey; we are all much overworked; we need rest, a better
boat, and good sailors. You and your men, Chevalier, shall row us to
Louisburg. When we are attacked, you shall be in the van; when we are at
peace, you shall industriously serve under King George's flag. Now will
you give up your men, and join me at breakfast?"

For a moment the excellent gentleman was mute, and my heart almost fell
before his venerable white hair and his proud bearing; but something a
little overdone in his pride, a little ludicrous in the situation, set
me smil