e subject, made no further
reference to de Courcelles. But the knowledge that he had gone on ahead
to Quebec troubled him. De Courcelles was not so young and frank as de
Galisonniere, nor did he seem to have the fine soul and chivalric spirit
of St. Luc. Robert felt the three had cause to fear him.

But the journey down the St. Lawrence continued without serious delay,
although the wind failed now and then and they took to the oars. It was
a voyage full of variety and interest to Robert. He slept that night
with his comrades on the deck of the _Frontenac_, and the next morning
he found a strong wind again blowing.

In time they approached Quebec, and saw the increasing signs of
population that betokened proximity to what was then in the eyes of
North Americans a great capital. On either shore they saw the manor
houses of the seigneurs, solid stone structures, low, steep of roof and
gabled, with clustering outhouses, and often a stone mill near by. The
churches also increased in numbers, and at one point the _Frontenac_
stopped and took on a priest, a tall strongly built man of middle years,
with a firm face. De Galisonniere introduced him as Father Philibert
Drouillard, and Robert felt his penetrating gaze upon his face. Then it
shifted to Willet and Tayoga, resting long upon the Onondaga.

Robert, knowing the great power of the church in Canada, was curious
about Father Drouillard, whom he knew at once to be no ordinary man. His
lean ascetic face seemed to show the spirit that had marked Jogues and
Goupil and those other early priests whom no danger nor Indian torture
could daunt. But he was too polite to ask questions, feeling that time
would bring him all the information he wanted, in which he was right, as
de Galisonniere said later in the day when Father Drouillard was sitting
in the little cabin out of hearing:

"A man of influence at Quebec. He has no parish, nor seems to wish any,
but he is deep in the councils of the Church. It is known, too, that he
corresponds with Rome, with the Holy Father himself, 'tis said, and
there are men high in office at Quebec who wish that he might be called
from New France back to the old land. Francois Bigot, the Intendant,
does not love him, nor does anyone of the group about Bigot, neither his
commissary general, Cadet, nor Pean, the Town Mayor of Quebec, nor
Descheneaux, nor the others of that group. It's a gorgeous life that our
own court circle leads at Quebec, and at the