“No, no; I am sorry if I spoke too hastily,” said Louis.  “We shall look into the matter at our council.”

“Then it warms my heart to hear you say so,” cried the old governor.  “There will be joy down the long St. Lawrence, in white hearts and in red, when it is known that their great father over the waters has turned his mind towards them.”

“And yet you must not look for too much, for Canada has been a heavy cost to us, and we have many calls in Europe.”

“Ah, sire, I would that you could see that great land.  When your Majesty has won a campaign over here, what may come of it?  Glory, a few miles of land Luxembourg, Strassburg, one more city in the kingdom; but over there, with a tenth of the cost and a hundredth part of the force, there is a world ready to your hand.  It is so vast, sire, so rich, so beautiful!  Where are there such hills, such forests, such rivers?  And it is all for us if we will but take it.  Who is there to stand in our way?  A few nations of scattered Indians and a thin strip of English farmers and fishermen.  Turn your thoughts there, sire, and in a few years you would be able to stand upon your citadel at Quebec, and to say there is one great empire here from the snows of the North to the warm Southern Gulf, and from the waves of the ocean to the great plains beyond Marquette’s river, and the name of this empire is France, and her king is Louis, and her flag is the fleurs-de-lis.”

Louis’s cheek had flushed at this ambitious picture, and he had leaned forward in his chair, with flashing eyes, but he sank back again as the governor concluded.

“On my word, count,” said he, “you have caught something of this gift of Indian eloquence of which we have heard.  But about these English folk.  They are Huguenots, are they not?”

“For the most part.  Especially in the North.”

“Then it might be a service to Holy Church to send them packing.  They have a city there, I am told.  New—­New—­How do they call it?”

“New York, sire.  They took it from the Dutch.”

“Ah, New York.  And have I not heard of another?  Bos—­Bos—­”

“Boston, sire.”

“That is the name.  The harbours might be of service to us.  Tell me, now, Frontenac,” lowering his voice so that his words might be audible only to the count, Louvois, and the royal circle, “what force would you need to clear these people out?  One regiment, two regiments, and perhaps a frigate or two?”

But the ex-governor shook his grizzled head.  “You do not know them, sire,” said he.  “They are stern folk, these.  We in Canada, with all your gracious help, have found it hard to hold our own.  Yet these men have had no help, but only hindrance, with cold and disease, and barren lands, and Indian wars, but they have thriven and multiplied until the woods thin away in front of them like ice in the sun, and their church bells are heard where but yesterday the wolves were howling.  They are peaceful folk, and slow to war, but when they have set their hands to it, though they may be slack to begin, they are slacker still to cease.  To put New England into your Majesty’s hands, I would ask fifteen thousand of your best troops and twenty ships of the line.”