dred times. Their
men have been a little roystering, but that's no sin. I am one with
them, and I am as good a subject as the king has."

"Why have you come here?"

"To give myself up. If you shoot Perrot or Du Lhut you will have to
shoot me; and, if you carry on the matter, your excellency will not have
enough gentlemen to play Tartufe."

This last remark referred to a quarrel which Frontenac had had with
the bishop, who inveighed against the governor's intention of producing
Tartufe at the chateau.

Iberville's daring was quite as remarkable as the position in which he
had placed himself. With a lesser man than Frontenac it might have ended
badly. But himself, courtier as he was, had ever used heroical methods,
and appreciated the reckless courage of youth. With grim humour he
put all three under arrest, made them sup with him, and sent them away
secretly before morning--free. Before Iberville left, the governor had
word with him alone.

"Monsieur," he said, "you have a keen tongue, but our king needs keen
swords, and since you have the advantage of me in this, I shall take
care you pay the bill. We have had enough of outlawry. You shall fight
by rule and measure soon."

"In your excellency's bodyguard, I hope," was the instant reply.

"In the king's navy," answered Frontenac, with a smile, for he was
pleased with the frank flattery.

A career different from that of George Gering, who, brought up with
Puritans, had early learned to take life seriously, had little of
Iberville's gay spirit, but was just such a determined, self-conscious
Englishman as any one could trust and admire, and none but an Englishman
love.

And Jessica Leveret? Wherever she had been during the past four years,
she had stood between these two men, regardful, wondering, waiting; and
at last, as we know, casting the die against the enemy of her country.
But was it cast after all?

Immediately after she made a certain solemn promise, recorded in
the last chapter, she went once again to New York to visit Governor
Nicholls. She had been there some months before, but it was only for a
few weeks, and then she had met Dollier de Casson and Perrot. That her
mind was influenced by memory of Iberville we may guess, but in what
fashion who can say? It is not in mortal man to resolve the fancies of
a woman, or interpret the shadowy inclinations, the timid revulsions,
which move them--they cannot tell why, any more than we. They would
indeed be