"Ah, but I am certain, M'sieu, they would not break faith with us."
"Yes, but they are Iroquois. Have none of them gone away since this news reached Quebec?"
"None, save one poor wretch whose drunkenness long ago caused us to give up hope, though I--"
"No, M'sieu. He was Teganouan, an Onondaga."
"You would do well, Father, if I may suggest, to take what news you may have to the Commandant. You and I know the importance of trifles at such a time as this. How long do you remain in Quebec?"
"A few days only, unless there should be work for me here."
"I cannot say until I have made my report and delivered the relations. Brother de Lamberville thinks it important that word should go to all those who are now labouring in the Iroquois villages. If they remain after the campaign is fairly started, their lives may be in danger."
"What else, M'sieu? This is not the time to trust too freely an Indian runner. And a layman might never get through alive. My habit would be the best safeguard."
"I suppose you are right. If I should not see you again, I must ask you to convey my respect to your colleagues at the Mission. I shall probably be here until the campaign is fairly started; perhaps longer. Already I am tasting the luxury of idleness."
"A dangerous luxury, M'sieu. If I might be permitted to advise--"
"Yes, yes, Father,--I know, I know. But what is the use? You are a priest, I am a soldier. Yours is penance, mine is fighting; yours is praying, mine is singing,--every man to his own. And when you priests have got your pagans converted, we soldiers will clean up the mess with our muskets. And now, Father, good day, and may God be with you."
The priest's face was unmoved as he looked after the retreating figure. He had watched Menard grow from a roistering lieutenant into a rigid captain, and he knew his temper too well to mind the flicks of banter. But before the soldier had passed from earshot, he called after him.
Menard turned back. "What now, good Father? A mass for my soul, or a last absolution before I plunge into my term of dissolute idleness?"
"Neither, my son," replied the priest, smiling. "Is any of your idleness to be shared with another?"
"I am bringing a picture to the College."