very well of
that."

The abbe looked up surprised. "From my letter?"

"I saw him once in the Spaniards' country," said Iberville, "when we
swore to love each other less and less."

"What was the trouble?" asked the priest.

"Pirates' booty, which he, with a large force, seized as a few of my men
were carrying it to the coast. With his own hand he cut down my servant,
who had been with me since from the first. Afterwards in a parley I saw
him, and we exchanged--compliments. The sordid gentleman thought I was
fretting about the booty. Good God, what are some thousand pistoles to
the blood of one honest friend!"

"And in your mind another leaven worked," ventured the priest.

"Another leaven, as you say," responded Iberville. "So, for your story,
abbe."

"Of the first journey there is nothing more to tell, save that the
English governor said you were as brave a gentleman as ever played
ambassador--which was, you remember, much in Count Frontenac's vein."

Iberville nodded and smiled. "Frontenac railed at my impertinence also."

"But gave you a sword when you told him the news of Radisson,"
interjected Perrot. "And by and by I've things to say of him."

The abbe continued: "For my second visit, but a few months ago. We
priests have gone much among the Iroquois, even in the English country,
and, as I promised you, I went to New York. There I was summoned to the
governor. He commanded me to go back to Quebec. I was about to ask him
of Mademoiselle when there came a tap at the door. The governor looked
at me a little sharply. 'You are,' said he, 'a friend of Monsieur
Iberville. You shall know one who keeps him in remembrance.' Then he
let the lady enter. She had heard that I was there, having seen Perrot
first."

Here Perrot, with a chuckle, broke in: "I chanced that way, and I had a
wish to see what was for seeing; for here was our good abbe alone among
the wolves, and there were Radisson and the immortal Bucklaw, of whom
there was news."

De Casson still continued: "When I was presented she took my hand and
said: 'Monsieur l'Abbe, I am glad to meet a friend--an old friend--of
Monsieur Iberville. I hear that he has been in France and elsewhere.'"

Here the abbe paused, smiling as if in retrospect, and kept looking into
the fire and turning about in his hand his cassock-cord.

Iberville had sat very still, his face ruled to quietness; only his eyes
showing the great interest he felt. He waited, and presently