rville, the
admiral; and Marshal Tallard--he who lost the bloody field of Blenheim to
the Englishman Churchill.

I confess I was abashed at the sound of so many great names, and advanced
in hesitating fashion across the floor, to kneel before the King.

"Tut, tut, Captain de Mouret," he said, kindly, "Rise, we would hear
somewhat from you touching matters in our Province of Louisiana, and
particularly of their safety in case of war--say, with Spain."

He then asked a few questions about things familiar to me, which put me
quite at ease. What I said I can scarce at this time recollect, but I
know I spoke with all a soldier's enthusiasm of my beloved commander, of
his diplomacy in peace, of his war-won successes.

It did not pass unnoticed that many a venomous glance was shot towards me
from that little group behind the King, but in the King's presence I
feared nothing, and spoke on, unrestrained.

Once a tall man whom I took to be Chamillard interrupted; the King
motioned me to proceed, and I told him all the strength and resources of
the colonies, their weakness and their needs. When I thought I had
finished, the King's face hardened, and looking me straight in the eye,
he inquired:

"What is this I hear of Bienville's presuming to criticise me--me, Louis,
his King--for contemplating such a disposition of the colonies as suits
my royal pleasure? Can you tell me that as glibly, sir?"

For the moment I was astounded and had no word to say. I could see a
faint smile run round the circle as they exchanged glances of
intelligence. Serigny was right. The spy had already arrived. His
eavesdropping news had reached the King. In my indignation I forgot the
man I addressed was the Imperial Louis. Defending my master I spoke
vigorously the truth, and that right earnestly.

"Your Majesty is a soldier, and will forgive a soldier's blunt speech. I
beg you, Sire, to consider the services and the sorrows of Bienville's
people, the loyal le Moynes. Where rests his father? Where his valiant
brothers, Ste. Helene and Mericourt? Dead, and for the silver lilies!
Where's Iberville, the courteous, the brave; he who ravaged the frozen
ocean and the tropic seas in his royal master's name? Dead, Sire, of the
pestilence in San Domingo. Does the King not remember his good ship
Pelican? Has the King forgotten Iberville? Hast forgotten thine own
white flag cruising on thine enemy's coast, borne down by four vessels of
super