“A man of influence at Quebec.  He has no parish, nor seems to wish any, but he is deep in the councils of the Church.  It is known, too, that he corresponds with Rome, with the Holy Father himself, ’tis said, and there are men high in office at Quebec who wish that he might be called from New France back to the old land.  Francois Bigot, the Intendant, does not love him, nor does anyone of the group about Bigot, neither his commissary general, Cadet, nor Pean, the Town Mayor of Quebec, nor Descheneaux, nor the others of that group.  It’s a gorgeous life that our own court circle leads at Quebec, and at the great Chateau Bigot, in the midst of its walks and flowers and gardens.  I don’t know why I’m telling you these things, Mr. Lennox!  It seems they should be the very last to say to one’s official enemy, but I can’t feel that I’m doing anything wrong when I do tell them to you.”

His bright face was in gloom for a few moments, and Robert, quick in perception, had a sudden feeling that this brilliant Quebec, enveloped in so much color and glamour, might not be so sound within as the English towns to the south, despite their wrangling.  But it merely increased his anxiety to see Quebec.  Life would be all the more complex there.

The great river spread before them, blue now under a dazzling blue sky, and the stout Frontenac left a long white trailing wake.  A stone house, larger than usual, showed through the green foliage on the south bank.  Father Drouillard gazed at it, and his face darkened.  Presently he arose and shook his hand towards the house, as if he were delivering a curse.

“The chateau that you see belongs to the young Count Jean de Mezy, a friend of the Intendant, Bigot.  Sometimes they come from their revels at Beaumanoir to the Chateau de Mezy, and continue them there.  Now you can see why Father Drouillard, who sympathizes with our honnetes gens, delivers his malediction.”

The priest returned to his seat, and averted his face.  An hour later the mighty rock of Quebec rose before them.

CHAPTER IX

AT THE INN

When Quebec came into view Robert stood up and looked long at the great rock and the town that crowned it, hung on its slopes and nestled at the foot of the cliffs below.  Brilliant sunshine gilded its buildings of stone and gray wood, and played like burnished gold on the steeples of its many churches.  In the distance the streets leading up the steep cliffs looked like mere threads, but in the upper town the great public buildings, the Intendant’s Palace, the Cathedral, Notre Dame de la Victoire, the convents of the Ursuline Nuns and the Recollet Friars, the Bishop’s Palace, and others raised for the glory and might of France, were plainly visible.

In more than one place he saw the Bourbon lilies floating and from the little boat on which he stood in the stream it looked like a grim and impregnable fortress of the Old World.  The wonderful glow of the air, and the vast river flowing at its feet, magnified and colored everything.  It was a city ten times its real size and the distance turned gray wood to gray stone.  Everything was solid, immovable, and it seemed fit to defy the world.