" (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.
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.
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