At that they would give back grudgingly with a chorus of grunts, only to close in again as tightly as before.  But they came to have a wholesome regard for the sun-browned man with the red hair who guarded the Colonel’s privacy.  The boy who sat on the door-step, the son of the great Pale Face Chief (as they called me), was a never ending source of comment among them.  Once Colonel Clark sent for me.  The little front room of this house was not unlike the one we had occupied at Kaskaskia.  It had bare walls, a plain table and chairs, and a crucifix in the corner.  It served as dining room, parlor, bedroom, for there was a pallet too.  Now the table was covered with parchments and papers, and beside Colonel Clark sat a grave gentleman of about his own age.  As I came into the room Colonel Clark relaxed, turned toward this gentleman, and said:—­

“Monsieur Gratiot, behold my commissary-general, my strategist, my financier.”  And Monsieur Gratiot smiled.  He struck me as a man who never let himself go sufficiently to laugh.

“Ah,” he said, “Vigo has told me how he settled the question of paper money.  He might do something for the Congress in the East.”

“Davy is a Scotchman, like John Law,” said the Colonel, “and he is a master at perceiving a man’s character and business.

“What would you call me, at a venture, Davy?” asked Monsieur Gratiot.

He spoke excellent English, with only a slight accent.

“A citizen of the world, like Monsieur Vigo,” I answered at a hazard.

“Pardieu!” said Monsieur Gratiot, “you are not far away.  Like Monsieur Vigo I keep a store here at Cahokia.  Like Monsieur Vigo, I have travelled much in my day.  Do you know where Switzerland is, Davy?”

I did not.

“It is a country set like a cluster of jewels in the heart of Europe,” said Monsieur Gratiot, “and there are mountains there that rise among the clouds and are covered with perpetual snows.  And when the sun sets on those snows they are rubies, and the skies above them sapphire.”

“I was born amongst the mountains, sir,” I answered, my pulse quickening at his description, “but they were not so high as those you speak of.”

“Then,” said Monsieur Gratiot, “you can understand a little my sorrow as a lad when I left it.  From Switzerland I went to a foggy place called London, and thence I crossed the ocean to the solemn forests of the north of Canada, where I was many years, learning the characters of these gentlemen who are looking in upon us.”  And he waved his arm at the line of peering red faces by the pickets.  Monsieur Gratiot smiled at Clark.  “And there’s another point of resemblance between myself and Monsieur Vigo.”

“Have you taken the paper money?” I demanded.

Monsieur Gratiot slapped his linen breeches.  “That I have,” and this time I thought he was going to laugh.  But he did not, though his eyes sparkled.  “And do you think that the good Congress will ever repay me, Davy?”