e chevalier subsided into silence, but Robert saw a significant look
pass between them, and instantly he became keen and watchful. What did
it mean? Willet's warning words came back to him. The more he studied
Boucher the less he liked him. With his thin face, and great hooked
nose, and long, bony fingers like talons, he reminded him of some great
bird of prey. He noticed also that while the others were drinking wine,
although he himself did not, the chevalier was the only one within his
view who also abstained.

The dinner was long. One or two of the ladies sang to the music, another
danced, and then de Galisonniere, in a full, round tenor voice, sang
"The Bridge of Avignon."

"Hier sur le pont d'Avignon
J'ai oui chanter la belle
Lon, la,
J'ai oui chanter la belle,
Elle chantait d'un ton si doux
Comme une demoiselle
Lon, la,
Comme une demoiselle."

It was singularly appealing, and for a moment tears came to the eyes of
all those who were born in France. They saw open fields, stone fences,
and the heavy grapes hanging in the vineyards, instead of the huge
rivers, the vast lakes and the mighty wilderness that curved almost to
their feet. But it was only for a moment. This was Quebec, the seat of
the French power in America, and they were in the Intendant's palace,
the very core and heart of it. The laughter that had been hushed for a
thoughtful instant or two came back in full tide, and once more the
Chevalier Pierre Boucher spoke to Robert.

"The songs of our France are beautiful," he said. "None other have in
them so much of poetry and haunting lament."

The youth detected as before the challenging under note in a remark that
otherwise would have seemed irrelevant, and an angry contradiction
leaped swiftly to his lips, but with the recollection of Willet's
warning look he restrained himself again.

"France has many beautiful things," he replied quietly.

"Well spoken, Mr. Lennox! A compliment to us from one of another race is
worth having," said de Courcelles. But Robert thought he saw that
significant look pass for a second time between de Courcelles and
Boucher. The long dinner drew to its close and the invited guests passed
into the private ballroom, where the band began to play dance music. In
the other ballroom, the one intended for the general public, the people
were dancing already, and another band was playing.

Now Bigot was in his element, s