“Welcome, Mr. Lennox, my brave and generous opponent of the morning,” said a voice, and, looking through the tawny mist, he saw the man whom he had fought and spared, Count Jean de Mezy, in a wonderful coat, waistcoat and knee breeches of white satin, heavily embroidered, white silk stockings, and low white shoes with great silver buckles, and a small gold-hilted sword hanging at his thigh.  The cheeks, a trifle too fat, were mottled again, but his manner like his costume was silken.  One would have thought that he and not Robert was the victor in that trial of skill by the St. Louis gate.

“Welcome, Mr. Lennox,” he said again in a tone that showed no malice.  “The Intendant’s ball will be all the more brilliant for the presence of yourself and your friends.  What a splendid figure the young Onondaga chief makes!”

Tayoga bowed to the compliment, which was rather broad but true, and de Mezy ran on: 

“We are accustomed here to the presence of Indian chiefs.  We French have known how to win the trust and friendship of the warriors and we ask them to our parlors and our tables as you English do not do, although I will confess that the Iroquois hitherto have come into Canada as enemies and not as friends.”

“Quebec was once the Stadacona of the Ganeagaono, known to you as the Mohawks,” said Tayoga in his deep musical voice, “and there is no record that they ever gave or sold it to Onontio.”

De Mezy was embarrassed for a moment, but he recovered himself quickly and laughed.

“You have us there!” he cried, “but it was long, long ago, when Cartier came to Quebec.  Times change and ownerships change with them.  We can’t roll back the past.”

Tayoga said no more, content to remind the French at intervals that a brother nation of the Hodenosaunee still asserted its title to Quebec.

“You are not the only member of the great red race present,” said de Mezy to Tayoga.  “We have a chief from the far west, a splendid type of the forest man.  What size!  What strength!  What a mien!  By my faith, he would make a stir in Paris!”

“Tandakora, the Ojibway!” said Robert.

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“We have met him—­more than once.  We have had dealings with him, and we may have more.  He seems to be interested in what we’re doing, and hence we’re never surprised when we see him.”

De Mezy looked puzzled, but at that moment de Courcelles and de Jumonville, wearing uniforms of white and silver, came forward to add their greeting to those of the count.  They were all courtesy and the words dropped from their lips like honey, but Robert felt that their souls were not like the soul of de Galisonniere, and that they could not be counted among the honnetes gens.  But the three Frenchmen were ready now to present the three travelers to Monsieur Francois Bigot, Intendant of Canada, great and nearly all powerful, and Robert judged too that they had made no complaint against his friends and himself.