!"

"Tandakora, the Ojibway!" said Robert.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"We have met him--more than once. We have had dealings with him, and we
may have more. He seems to be interested in what we're doing, and hence
we're never surprised when we see him."

De Mezy looked puzzled, but at that moment de Courcelles and de
Jumonville, wearing uniforms of white and silver, came forward to add
their greeting to those of the count. They were all courtesy and the
words dropped from their lips like honey, but Robert felt that their
souls were not like the soul of de Galisonniere, and that they could not
be counted among the _honnetes gens_. But the three Frenchmen were ready
now to present the three travelers to Monsieur Francois Bigot, Intendant
of Canada, great and nearly all powerful, and Robert judged too that
they had made no complaint against his friends and himself.

Bigot was standing near the entrance to the private dancing room, and
about him was a numerous company, including ladies, among them the wife
of Pean, to whom the gossip of the time gave great influence with him,
and a certain Madame Marin and her sister, Madame de Rigaud, and others.
As the three approached under the conduct of the three Frenchmen the
group opened out, and they were presented in order, Robert first.

The youth was still under the influence of the lights, the gorgeous
rooms and the brilliant company, but he gazed with clear eyes and the
most eager interest at Bigot, whose reputation had spread far, even in
the British colonies. He saw a man of middle years, portly, his red face
sprinkled with many pimples, probably from high living, not handsome and
perhaps at first repellent, but with an expression of vigor and ease,
and an open, frank manner that, at length, attracted. His dress was much
like de Mezy's, but finer perhaps.

Such was the singular man who had so much to do with the wrecking of New
France, a strange compound of energy and the love of luxury, lavish with
hospitality, an untiring worker, a gambler, a profligate, a thief of
public funds, he was also kindly, gracious and devoted to his friends. A
strange bundle of contradictions and disjointed morals, he represented
in the New World the glittering decadence that marked the French
monarchy at home. Now he was smiling as de Mezy introduced Robert with
smooth words.

"Mr. Robert Lennox of Albany and New York," he said, "the brilliant
young swordsman of whom I spoke to you,