The young man thrust a hand into his doublet and drew forth a packet of
papers. As he handed it over, he said in English--for till then the
governor had spoken French, having once served with the army of France,
and lived at the French Court: "Your excellency, my name is Pierre le
Moyne of Iberville, son of Charles le Moyne, a seigneur of Canada, of
whom you may have heard." (The governor nodded.) "I was not sent by
Count Frontenac to you. My father was his envoy: to debate with you
our trade in the far West and our dealings with the Iroquois."

"Exactly," said old William Drayton, tapping the table with his
forefinger; "and a very sound move, upon my soul."

"Ay, ay," said the governor, "I know of your father well enough. A good
fighter and an honest gentleman, as they say. But proceed, Monsieur le
Moyne of Iberville."

"I am called Iberville," said the young man simply. Then: "My father and
myself started from Quebec with good Nick Perrot, the coureur du bois--"

"I know him too," the governor interjected--"a scoundrel worth his weight
in gold to your Count Frontenac."

"For whose head Count Frontenac has offered gold in his time," answered
Iberville, with a smile.

"A very pretty wit," said old William Drayton, nodding softly towards the
girl, who was casting bright, quizzical glances at the youth over the
back of the chair.