point where he wanted to see a Bostonnais do it. Nor did he
believe that it could be done. De Mezy was a good swordsman, and his
friends would see that he was in proper condition. Weighing the matter
well, Monsieur Berryer was, on the whole, sorry for the young stranger.

But Robert himself showed no apprehensions. He ate his excellent
breakfast with an equally excellent appetite, and Monsieur Berryer
noticed that his hand did not tremble. He observed, too, that he had
spirit enough to talk and laugh with his friends, and when Captain de
Galisonniere and another young Frenchman, Lieutenant Armand Glandelet,
arrived, he welcomed them warmly.

The captain carried under his arm a long thin case, in which Monsieur
Berryer knew that the swords lay. Lieutenant Armand Glandelet was
presented duly and Robert liked his appearance, his age apparently
twenty-three or four, his complexion fair and his figure slender. His
experience in affairs of honor was not as great as de Galisonniere's,
and he showed some excitement, but he was one of the _honnetes gens_ and
he too wished, the punishment of de Mezy. Perhaps he had suffered from
him some insult or snub which he was not in a position to resent fully.

"Is your wrist strong and steady and without soreness, Mr. Lennox?"
asked Captain de Galisonniere.

"It was never more flexible," replied Robert confidently. "Shall we go
to the field? I should like to be there first."

"A praiseworthy attitude," said Captain de Galisonniere. "The sun is
just rising and the light is good. Come."

Keeping the long, thin case under his arm, he went forth, and the rest
followed. Monsieur Berryer also came at a respectful distance, and
others fell into line with him. Robert walked by the side of Willet.

"Don't forget that low thrust," said the hunter, "and watch his eye. You
feel no apprehensions?"

"None at all, thanks to you. I'm quite sure I'm his master."

"Then it's a good morning for a fight, and the setting is perfect.
You'll remember this day, Robert. What a wonderful situation has the
Quebec of the French that was the Stadacona of the Mohawks! A fine town,
a great rock and the king of rivers! The St. Lawrence looks golden in
the early sunlight, and what a lot of it there is!"

"Yes, it's a great stream," said Robert, looking at the golden river and
the far shores, green and high.

"Here we are," said de Galisonniere, passing beyond some outlying
houses. "It's a good, clear opening,