"Ah, I see, sir, that you're a man of sentiment," said Monsieur Jolivet,
laughing and rubbing his hands. "It is well that one can feel it in this
rough world of ours. But will Monsieur see a young officer who has come
from the commandant? Merely a little inquiry about your identity and an
examination of your papers, if you have any. It's according to our
custom, and it's just a formality, nothing more."

Robert knew that it was far from being a formality, but his comrades and
he had nothing to fear, as their mission was duly accredited and they
carried the letters to the Marquis Duquesne. The young officer, a
Frenchman of Canadian birth, entered presently, and with the courtesy
characteristic of the French race, a trait that Robert liked, asked for
an account of themselves, which was given readily. As usual the effect
of the letters addressed to the Marquis Duquesne was magical, and, as
the officer withdrew, he tendered them all the help he could give for a
speedy and pleasant voyage to Quebec.

Monsieur Jolivet gave them a supper in his best style. Although a native
of New France he was of Provençal blood, and he had a poetic strain. He
offered to his guests not an excellent inn alone, but a magnificent view
also, of which he made full use. The evening being warm with a soft and
soothing wind, Marie and Lizette set the table in a little garden, in
which early flowers were blooming already, offering delicate colors of
pink and rose and pale blue. The table was spread with a white cloth,
and silver and china were not lacking. The eyes of Robert, who had a
fastidious taste, glistened.

"Monsieur Jolivet may be our enemy or not," he said, "but I like him. It
is not often that one can dine at such an inn, with such a view of