his
caliber, to offer to take on, because of his youth, the older man, Mr.
Willet."

Robert came back and offered his hand frankly. De Mezy, whose head was
still ringing from his uncommon exertions and chagrin, took it. It was
bitter to have lost, but he still lived. In a manner as he saw it, he
had been disgraced, but time and the red wine and the white would take
away the sting. He still lived. That was the grand and beautiful fact.
Many more joyous days and nights awaited him in the company of Bigot and
Cadet and Pean, powerful men who knew how to exercise their power and
how to live at the same time. He should be grateful for a little while,
at least, to the young Bostonnais, and he shook the proffered hand as
heartily as his own damp, limp fingers would admit.

"May your stay in Quebec be as pleasant as you wish," he said, a bit
thickly.

"Thanks," said Robert, who read the man's mind thoroughly.

De Galisonniere put away the unstained swords, quite satisfied with the
affair, himself and everybody. An important follower of Bigot had been
humbled, and yet he had not suffered in such a manner that he could call
for the punishment of the one who had humbled him. The very youth of the
Bostonnais would disarm resentment against him.

De Mezy's party with formal bows drew away, and Robert and his friends
returned to the Inn of the Eagle.

CHAPTER XI

BIGOT'S BALL

"You needn't expect any trouble from the authorities," said de
Galisonniere, when they sat once more in the great room at the inn.
"Dueling is of course frowned upon theoretically, but it's a common
practice, and since no life has been lost, not even any wound inflicted,
you'll hear nothing of it from the government. And de Mezy, I imagine,
will say as little about it as possible. He rather fancies himself as a
swordsman, and he will not want everybody in Quebec to know that he was
defeated and disarmed by a boy. Still, it will spread."

He and Glandelet took a courteous leave, and Robert thanked them for
their services. He liked them both, especially de Galisonniere, and he
was sorry that fate should put them on opposing sides in the war that
all of them felt was surely coming.

"The French count gave you the hand of friendship, but not the spirit of
it," said Tayoga, who had not spoken at all while they were at the
dueling ground. "He was grateful to you for sparing his life, but his
gratitude will go like the wind, and then he will hate