“Thanks,” said the Chevalier.  “You are recruiting?”

“Yes, Monsieur.  I have succeeded indifferently well.”

“Is there room in your company for another recruit?”

“You have a friend who wishes to seek his fortune?” smiling grimly.

“I am speaking for myself.  I wish to visit that country.  Will you accept my sword and services?”

“You, Monsieur?” dumfounded.  “You, a common trooper in Quebec?  You are jesting!”

“Not at all.  I shall never return to Paris.”

“Monsieur le Comte . . .” began Du Puys.

The Chevalier raised his hand.  “Not Monsieur le Comte; simply Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes; Cevennes for the sake of brevity.”

“Monsieur, then, pardon a frank soldier.  The life at Quebec is not at all suited to one who has been accustomed to the ease and luxury of court.  There is all the difference in the world between De Guitaut’s company in Paris and Du Puy’s ragged band in Quebec.  Certainly, a man as rich as yourself . . .”

“I have not a denier in my pockets,” said the Chevalier, with a short laugh.

“Not at present, perhaps,” replied Du Puys.  “But one does not lose forty thousand livres in a night, and that, I understand, is your revenue.”

“I lost them to-night,” quietly.

“Forty thousand livres?” gasped the soldier.  “You have lost a fortune, then?” annoyed.

“Yes; and more than that, I have lost the source from which they came, these forty thousand livres.  I see that you are mystified.  Perhaps you will learn in the morning how I came to lose this fortune.  Will you accept my sword?”

“Monsieur,” answered Du Puys, “you are in wine.  Come to me in the morning; you will have changed your mind.”

“And if not?”

“Then I shall give you a place in the company.  But, word of honor, I do not understand . . .”

“It is not necessary that you should.  The question is, is my past record as a soldier sufficient?”

“Your courage is well known, Monsieur.”

“That is all.  Good night, Major.  I shall sign your papers at nine to-morrow.”

Du Puys returned to his party.  They asked questions mutely.

“Father,” he said to Chaumonot, “here is a coil.  Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes, son of the Marquis de Perigny, wishes to sign for Quebec.”

The Vicomte d’Halluys lifted his head from his arms.  But none took notice of him.

“What!” cried Brother Jacques.  “That fop? . . . in Quebec?”

“It is as I have the honor of telling you,” said Du Puys.  “There is something going on.  We shall soon learn what it is.”

The Vicomte d’Halluys rose and came over to the table.  “Do I understand you to say that the Chevalier is to sign for Quebec?” His tone possessed a disagreeable quality.  He was always insolent in the presence of churchmen.

“Yes, Monsieur,” said Du Puys.  “You were with him to-night.  Perhaps you can explain the Chevalier’s extraordinary conduct?  He tells me that he has lost forty thousand livres to-night.”