Victor threw his hat into the air.

“And I, Monsieur Paul?” said Breton, trembling in his shoes, with expectancy or fear.

“If they will let you go, lad,” kindly; and Breton fell upon his knees and kissed the Chevalier’s hand.

The articles which made them soldiers, obedient first to the will of the king and second to the will of the Company of the Hundred Associates, were duly signed.  Breton was permitted to accompany his master with the understanding that he was to entail no extra expense.  Father Chaumonot was delighted; Brother Jacques was thoughtful; the major was neutral and incurious.  As yet no rumor stirred its ugly head; the Chevalier’s reasons for going were still a matter of conjecture.  None had the courage to approach the somber young man and question him.  The recruits and broken gentlemen had troubles of sufficient strength to be unmindful of the interest in the Chevalier’s.  The officers from Fort Louis bowed politely to the Chevalier, but came not near enough to speak.  Excessive delicacy, or embarrassment, or whatever it was, the Chevalier appreciated it.  As for the civilians who had enjoyed the hospitality of the Hotel de Perigny, they remained unobserved on the outskirts of the crowd.  The vicomte expressed little or no surprise to learn that Victor had signed.  He simply smiled; for if others were mystified as to the poet’s conduct, he was not.  Often his glance roved toward the stairs; but there were no petticoats going up or coming down.

“Monsieur le Vicomte,” said Brother Jacques, whose curiosity was eating deeply, “will you not explain to me the cause of the Chevalier’s extraordinary conduct?”

“Ah, my little Jesuit!” said the vicomte; “so you are still burning with curiosity?  Well, I promise to tell you all about it the first time I confess to you.”

“Monsieur, have you any reason for insulting me?” asked Brother Jacques, coldly, his pale cheeks aflame.

“Good! there is blood in you, then?” laughed the vicomte, noting the color.

“Red and healthy, Monsieur,” in a peculiar tone.  Brother Jacques was within an inch of being as tall and broad as the vicomte.

The vicomte gazed into the handsome face, and there was some doubt in his own eyes.  “You have not always been a priest?”

“Not always.”

“And your antecedents?”

“A nobler race than yours, Monsieur,” haughtily.  “You also have grown curious, it would seem.  I shall be associated with the Chevalier, and I desired to know the root of his troubles in order to help him.  But for these robes, Monsieur, you would not use the tone you do.”

“La, la!  Take them off if they hamper you.  But I like not curious people, I am not a gossip.  The Chevalier has reasons in plenty.  Ask him why he going to Quebec;” and the vicomte whirled on his heels, leaving the Jesuit the desire to cast aside his robes and smite the vicomte on the mouth.