Iberville went on: "Six days ago we were set upon by a score of your
Indians, and might easily have left our scalps with them; but, as it
chanced, my father was wounded, I came off scot-free, and we had the
joy of ridding your excellency of half a dozen rogues."

The governor lifted his eyebrows and said nothing. The face of the girl
over against the back of the chair had become grave.

"It was in question whether Perrot or I should bear Count Frontenac's
message. Perrot knew the way, I did not; Perrot also knew the Indians."

"But Perrot," said the governor blufily, "would have been the letter-
carrier; you are a kind of ambassador. Upon my soul, yes, a sort of
ambassador!" he added, enjoying the idea; for, look at it how you would,
Iberville was but a boy.

"That was my father's thought and my own," answered Iberville coolly.
"There was my father to care for till his wound was healed and he could
travel back to Quebec, so we thought it better Perrot should stay with
him. A Le Moyne was to present himself, and a Le Moyne has done so."

The governor was impressed more deeply than he showed. It was a time of
peace, but the young man's journey among Indian braves and English
outlaws, to whom a French scalp was a thing of price, was hard and
hazardous. His reply was cordial, then his fingers came to the seal
of the packet; but the girl's hand touched his arm.

"I know his name," she said in the governor's ear, "but he does not know
mine."