“Is your wrist strong and steady and without soreness, Mr. Lennox?” asked Captain de Galisonniere.

“It was never more flexible,” replied Robert confidently.  “Shall we go to the field?  I should like to be there first.”

“A praiseworthy attitude,” said Captain de Galisonniere.  “The sun is just rising and the light is good.  Come.”

Keeping the long, thin case under his arm, he went forth, and the rest followed.  Monsieur Berryer also came at a respectful distance, and others fell into line with him.  Robert walked by the side of Willet.

“Don’t forget that low thrust,” said the hunter, “and watch his eye.  You feel no apprehensions?”

“None at all, thanks to you.  I’m quite sure I’m his master.”

“Then it’s a good morning for a fight, and the setting is perfect.  You’ll remember this day, Robert.  What a wonderful situation has the Quebec of the French that was the Stadacona of the Mohawks!  A fine town, a great rock and the king of rivers!  The St. Lawrence looks golden in the early sunlight, and what a lot of it there is!”

“Yes, it’s a great stream,” said Robert, looking at the golden river and the far shores, green and high.

“Here we are,” said de Galisonniere, passing beyond some outlying houses.  “It’s a good, clear opening, pretty well surrounded by trees, with plenty of sunlight at all points, and as you wished, Mr. Lennox, we’re the first to arrive.”

They stood together, talking with apparent unconcern, while the morning unfolded, and the golden sunlight over the river deepened.  Although he had been trained with the sword for years, it would be Robert’s first duel, and, while he approached it with supreme confidence, he knew that he could find no joy in the shedding of another’s blood.  He felt it a strange chance that such an affair should be forced upon him, and yet this was a dueling city.  The hot young spirits of France had brought their customs with them into the North American wilderness, and perhaps the unsought chance, if he used it as he thought he could, would not serve him so ill after all.

De Mezy, with his seconds, Nemours and Le Moyne, was approaching among the trees.  It appeared that the seconds for both had arranged everything at a meeting the night before, and nothing was left for the two principals but to fight.  Robert saw at a single glance that de Mezy’s head was clear.  Some of the mottled color had left his cheeks, but the effect was an improvement, and he bore himself like a man who was strong and confident.  He and his seconds wore dark blue cloaks over their uniforms, which they laid aside when they saw that Robert and his friends were present.

Nemours stepped forward and asked to speak with Captain de Galisonniere.

“Count Jean de Mezy,” he said, “is an experienced swordsman, a victor in a dozen duels, a man of great skill, and he does not wish to take an advantage that might seem unfair to others.  He considers the extreme youth of his opponent, and if by chance his friend, Mr. Willet, should know the sword, he will meet him instead.”