coverlet of winter, through which sounded now and then the boom-boom of a
bursting tree--A few score men upon a desolate northern track, silent,
desperate, courageous; a forlorn hope on the edge of the Arctic circle,
with the joy of conquest in their bones, and at their thighs the swords
of men.

These are a few of the pictures, but the last of them had not to do with
the past: a dream grown into a fact, shaped by the music, become at once
an emotion and a purpose.

Iberville had now driven home the first tent-peg of a wonderful
adventure. Under the spell of that music his body seemed to grow larger.
He fingered his sword, and presently caught Perrot by the shoulder and
said "We will do it, Perrot."

Perrot got to his feet. He understood. He nodded and seized Iberville's
hand. "Bravo! There was nothing else to do," he replied.

De Casson lowered his violin. "What do you intend?" he asked gravely.

Iberville took his great hand and pressed it. "To do what you will
commend, abbe: at Hudson's Bay to win back forts the English have taken,
and get those they have built."

"You have another purpose," added De Casson softly.

"Abbe, that is between me and my conscience. I go for my king and
country against our foes."

"Who will go with you? You will lead?"