The figure of a man holding up a white handkerchief appeared and it was St. Luc himself, as neat and irreproachable as if he were attending a ball in the Intendant’s palace at Quebec.  Robert knew that he must have been active in the battle all through the night, but he showed no signs of it.  He wore a fine close-fitting uniform of dark blue, and the handkerchief of lace was held aloft on the point of a small sword, the golden hilt of which glittered in the morning sunlight.  He was a strange figure in the forest, but a most gallant one, and to Robert’s eyes a chevalier without fear and without reproach.

“I know that you speak good French, Mr. Lennox,” said Captain Colden.  “Will you go forward and meet the Frenchman?  You will perhaps know what to say to him, and, if not, you can refer to Mr. Willet and myself.”

“I will do my best, sir,” said Robert, glad of the chance to meet St. Luc face to face again.  He did not know why his heart leaped so every time he saw the chevalier, but his friendship for him was undeniable.  It seemed too that St. Luc liked him, and Robert felt sure that whatever hostility his official enemy felt for the English cause there was none for him personally.

Unconsciously he began to arrange his own attire of forest green, beautifully dyed and decorated deerskin, that he might not look less neat than the man whom he was going to meet.  St. Luc was standing under the wide boughs of an oak, his gold hilted rapier returned to its sheath and his white lace handkerchief to its pocket.  The smile of welcome upon his face as he saw the herald was genuine.

“I salute you, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “and wish you a very good morning.  I learned that you were in the force besieged by us, and it’s a pleasure to see that you’ve escaped unhurt.  When last we met the honors were yours.  You fairly defeated me at the word play in the vale of Onondaga, but you will admit that the savage, Tandakora, played into your hands most opportunely.  You will admit also that word play is not sword play, and that in the appeal to the sword we have the advantage of you.”

“It may seem so to one who sees with your eyes and from your position,” said Robert, “but being myself I’m compelled to see with my own eyes and from our side.  I wish to say first, however, Chevalier de St. Luc, that since you have wished me a very good morning I even wish you a better.”

St. Luc laughed gayly.

“You and I will never be enemies.  It would be against nature,” he said.

“No, we’ll never be enemies, but why is it against nature?”

“Perhaps I was not happy in my phrase.  We like each other too well, and—­in a way—­our temperaments resemble too much to engender a mutual hate.  But we’ll to business.  Mine’s a mission of mercy.  I come to receive the surrender of your friends and yourself, since continued resistance to us will be vain!”