a hunter, and who claimed to be one, was such a master of the weapon as had never before appeared in New France.  And it was said by the French officers that his equal could not be found in old France either.  The interest aroused by his fame was increased by the mystery that enshrouded him, and they gave him an attention that was not at all hostile.  In truth, it was strongly compounded with admiration.  A man who had removed Pierre Boucher as he had done, was to be regarded with respect.  Boucher had given every promise of becoming a public danger in Quebec, and perhaps they owed gratitude to the hunter, Bostonnais though he was.

Late in the afternoon they had word that the Marquis Duquesne had come and would receive them.  Again they arrayed themselves with the greatest care, and took their way to the Castle of St. Louis.  They found a man very different in appearance and manner from the Intendant, Bigot.  Tall, austere, belonging to a race that was reckoned very noble in France, the Marquis Duquesne was not popular in New France.  He had none of the geniality and easy generosity of Bigot, as he spent his own money, but he had shown a military energy and foresight which the British governors to the south were far from imitating.  While Canada did not love him, it respected him and his boldness, and his daring and foresight had deeply impressed the powerful Indian tribes whose friendship and alliance were so important in the coming war.

The manner of the Marquis was high, when he received the three in his chamber of audience, but it was not deficient in courtesy.  He looked intently at each of them in turn.

“You come, so I am told, from the Governor of New York,” he said, “and judging from what I have heard he has chosen messengers who are able to make a stir.  Two days in Quebec and already you have fought two duels, one of them ending fatally.”

“My lord,” said Willet, gravely, “they were not of our seeking.”

“That also, I hear.  They tell me, too, Mr. Willet, that you are an incomparable swordsman, and it must be true, or you would not have been able to defeat Boucher.  But that matter is adjusted.  You will not be held here because of his death.  It seems that the Intendant, Monsieur Bigot himself, does not wish to carry it further.  But the letters from the Governor of New York?”

“Mr. Lennox has them,” said Willet.

Robert bowed and took from an inner pocket of his waistcoat the letters he had carried through so many dangers.  They were contained in a small deerskin pouch, and were only two in number.  Bowing again, he handed them to the Governor General, who said: 

“Pray be seated, and excuse me for a few minutes while I read them.”

He read slowly, stopping at times to consider, and when he had finished he read them over again.

“Do you and Mr. Willet know the contents of these letters?” he said to Robert.

“We do,” replied the youth.  “They were read to us by the Governor of New York before he sealed them.  If we were robbed of them on the way to Quebec, and he knew the way was dangerous, we were to continue our journey and deliver the message to you verbally.”