It was the second time that Robert had entered the camp of Montcalm and his keen interest drove away for the present all thought of himself.  He noted anew the uniforms, mostly white faced with blue or violet or red or yellow, and with black, three-cornered hats.  There were the battalions of Guienne, La Reine, Bearn, La Sarre, Languedoc, Berry and Royal Roussillon.  The Canadians, swarthy, thick and strong, wore white with black facings.  Some Indians were about, but fewer than Robert had expected.  It was true then that they had become alarmed at Abercrombie’s advancing might, and were leaving the French to their fate.

“You are to stay in a tent with me,” said Langlade, “and you will be so thoroughly surrounded by the army, that you will have no earthly chance of escape.  So I think it better that you pledge your word not to attempt it for a while, and I can make things easier for you.”

“No, I decline again to give such a pledge,” said Robert firmly.  “I warn you, as I’ve warned the Chevalier de St. Luc, that I’m going to escape.”

Langlade looked at him searchingly, and then the face of the partisan kindled.

“I believe you mean it!” he exclaimed.  “You rely on yourself and you think, too, that clever Onondaga, Tayoga, will come again to your aid.  I acknowledge that he’s a great trailer, that he’s master of some things that even I, Charles Langlade, the Owl, do not know, but he cannot steal you away a second time.”

“I admit that I’ve been thinking of Tayoga.  He may be here now close to us.”

The Owl gave a startled look at the empty air, as if he expected Tayoga to be hovering there, formidable but invisible.

“I see you do fear him,” laughed Robert.

“I do, but we shall be a match for him this time, though I never underrate his powers.”

A young officer in a captain’s uniform stopped suddenly and looked at Robert.  Then he advanced and extended his hand.

“It is evident that you like the French,” he said, “since you are continually coming back to them.”

“De Galissonniere!” exclaimed Robert, as he warmly shook the extended hand.  “Yes, here I am, and I do like many of the French.  I’m sorry we’re official enemies.”

“I know that our people will treat you well,” jested De Galissonniere, “and then, when we take New York, you can tell the inhabitants of that city what good masters we are and teach them to be reconciled.”

Young Lennox made a reply in like spirit, and De Galissonniere passed on.  But a man walking near with his shoulder well bound greeted him in no such friendly manner.  Instead a heavy frown came over his face and his eyes flashed cruelly.  It was De Courcelles, nursing the wound Robert had given him, and at the same time increasing his anger.  The youth returned his gaze defiantly.

“Colonel De Courcelles does not like you,” said Langlade, who had noticed the brief exchange.