“Sent by Europe!” said Paul.

“Truly so.  An old country always seeks to disgorge such people upon a new one.  But Monsieur Gilibert, the proprietor of this inn, on the whole, maintains good order among his customers.  As you can now see, Monsieur Gilibert is a man of parts.”

The proprietor, wearing a cook’s cap and white apron, emerged that moment from his kitchen.  He was not above supervising, and even doing his own cooking, and, because of it, his inn had acquired a great reputation for excellence of food, as well as drink.

Many of the French in New Orleans were Provencals, but Monsieur Gilibert was from the North of France, a huge, flaxen-haired man with a large square chin, and a fearless countenance.  His blue eye roved around the room and lighted upon the five and their host, Lieutenant Diego Bernal, at the secluded table.  He noted that every one of the five had a long rifle leaning by his chair, and he shrewdly surmised that they were from the wilderness of the far North.

Monsieur Francois Eugene Gilibert did not love the Spanish, although he did like Lieutenant Diego Bernal, who was a Catalan and therefore, in the opinion of Monsieur Gilibert, almost a Frenchman.  Neither did he like the passing of New Orleans from the French into the hands of the Spanish, although trade was as good as ever at his Inn of Henri Quatre, despite the narrow Spanish rule, which was not to his taste.  It was perhaps one half his love of freedom and one-half his objection to the rule of Spain that made him look with friendly eyes upon any far wanderers from Kaintock.

He strolled to the table and greeted Lieutenant Bernal, who returned his greeting pleasantly and gave the names of the five.

“They come from Kaintock,” said the lieutenant, significantly, “and they do not like Francisco Alvarez.”

“Ah,” said Monsieur Gilibert, who also spoke English.  “I do not love that man Alvarez.  He is the enemy of the French.”

“Not more than he is of Kaintock,” said the Lieutenant.  Then he turned to the five and said: 

“I did not bring you here merely to hear words.  I wish something to drink for my friends, kind Monsieur Gilibert.  The inn has rum of both New England and Barbadoes, Spanish and French wines.  Now what shall it be?”

He turned to the five, and as they answered, one by one, the eyes of the young Spanish lieutenant opened wider and wider in astonishment.  They had never tasted rum and were quite sure they would not care for it.  Wine they knew, almost as little about, using that they had found on “The Galleon” chiefly as a medicine, and they ended, one and all, by choosing a mild West Indian drink, a kind of orange water.  Lieutenant Bernal reached over and with his two hands felt gingerly of Henry’s mighty right arm.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that such a muscle and such a body have been built up and nourished by things as mild as orange water?”