with heavy cannon. Now, he wondered at the boldness of the New
Englanders who had assailed the town with so much vigor, and who might
have taken it.

"I recommend to you," said de Galisonniere, "that you go to the Inn of
the Eagle in the Upper Town. It is kept by Monsieur Berryer, who as a
host is fully equal to Monsieur Jolivet of Montreal, and the merits of
Monsieur Jolivet are not unknown to you."

"They are not," said Robert heartily, "and we may thank you, Captain de
Galisonniere, for your great courtesy in bringing us from Montreal. We
can only hope for a time in which we shall be able to repay your
kindness."

After they had slipped some silver pieces to the boatmen and had said
farewell to Captain de Galisonniere, they took their way up a steep
street, a swarthy French-Canadian porter carrying their baggage. Here,
as at Montreal, the most attention was attracted by Tayoga, and, if
possible, the young Onondaga grew more haughty in appearance and manner.
His moccasined feet spurned the ground, and he gazed about with a fierce
and defiant eye.

Robert knew well what was stirring the spirit of the Onondaga. This was
not the Quebec of the French, it was the Stadacona of the Mohawks, the
great brother nation of the Onondagas, and the French here were but
interlopers and robbers.

But Robert soon lost thought of Tayoga as he looked at the crowded city,
and its mingling of the splendid and the squalid, its French and
French-Canadians, its soldiers and priests and civilians and Indians,
its great stone houses, and its wooden huts, its young officers in fine
white uniforms and its swarthy _habitants_ in brown homespun. Albany had
its Dutch, and New York had its Dutch, too, and people from many parts
of Europe, but Quebec was different, something altogether new, without a
trace of English or Dutch about it, and, for that reason, it made a
great appeal to his curiosity.

A light open carriage drawn by two stout ponies passed them at an
amazing pace considering the steepness of the street, and they saw in it
a florid young man in a splendid costume, his powdered hair tied in a
queue.

"De Mezy," said the priest, who was just behind them.

Then they knew that it was the young man, the companion of Bigot in his
revels, against whose chateau Father Drouillard had raised his
threatening hands. Now the priest spoke the name with the most intense
scorn and contempt, and Robert, feeling that he might encounter de Mezy
ag