The hues of everything gradually grew brighter and more brilliant to Robert.  The music from the next room steeped his senses, and he began to feel the intoxication of which Willet had warned him.  Many of the guests were of the noblest families of France, young officers who had come to Quebec, where it was reported promotion was rapid and sure, or where younger sons, with the aid of such powerful men as Bigot and Cadet, could make fortunes out of the customs or in the furnishing of supplies to the government.  Robert found himself talking much, his gift of speech responding readily to the call.  He answered their jests with a jest, their quips with a quip, and when they were serious so was he.  He felt that while there may have been an undercurrent of hostility when he entered the palace it had all disappeared now, and he was a favorite, or at least they took a friendly interest in him, because he was a new type and they did not think him brusque and rude, as the French believed all Bostonnais to be.

And through this picturesque throng stalked the two Indians, Tayoga and Tandakora.  The Ojibway wore a feather headdress, and a scarlet blanket of richest texture was draped around his body, its hem meeting his finely tanned deerskin leggings, while his feet were encased in beaded moccasins.  Nevertheless he looked, in those surroundings, which belonged so thoroughly to an exotic civilization, more gigantic and savage than ever.  Robert was well aware that Bigot had brought him there for a political purpose, to placate and win the western tribes, and to impress him with the power and dignity of France.  But whatever he may have felt, the Ojibway, towering half a head above the tallest white man, save Willet, was grim and lowering.  His left arm lay in a fold of his blanket, and, as he held it stiffly, Robert knew that his wound was yet far from healed.  He and Tayoga were careful to keep away from each other, the Onondaga because he was a guest and was aware of the white man’s amenities, and the Ojibway because he knew it was not the time and place for his purpose.

They went in to dinner presently and the table of Francois Bigot was splendid as became the powerful Intendant of New France, who had plenty of money, who was lavish with it and who, when it was spent, knew where to obtain more with ease and in abundance.  Forty guests sat down, and the linen, the silver and the china were worthy of the King’s palace at Versailles.  A lady was on Robert’s right and Colonel de Courcelles was on his left.  Willet and Tayoga were farther down on his own side of the table, and he could not see them, unless he leaned forward, which he was too well mannered to do.  Bigot sat at the foot of the table and at its head was Madame Pean, a native of Canada, born Mademoiselle Desmeloizes, young, handsome and uncommonly vivacious, dressed gorgeously in the latest Parisian style, and, as Robert put it to himself, coruscating with talk and smiles.